
ANNA-MIA HERTZMAN 

















Class 

Book. 



Copyright N a . 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 


CPO 





















WHEN I WAS A GIRL 
IN SWEDEN 


CHILDREN OF OTHER LANDS BOOKS 

Independent Volumes With Characteristic Illustrations 
and Cover Designs i2mo Cloth 

There are many books about the children of other countries, but 
no other group like this, with each volume written by one who has 
lived the foreign child life described, and learned from subsequent 
experience in this country how to tell it in a way attractive to Ameri¬ 
can children — and in fact to Americans of any age. 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN CHINA, By Yan Phou Lee 
WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN ITALY, By Marietta Ambroai 
WHEN I WAS A BOY IN JAPAN, By Sakae Shioya 
WHEN I WAS A BOY IN GREECE, By George Demetrioa 
WHEN I WAS A BOY IN PALESTINE, By Mousa J. Kaleel 
WHEN I WAS A BOY IN BELGIUM, By Robert Jonckheere 
WHEN I WAS A BOY IN RUSSIA, By Vladimir Mokrievitch 
WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ROUMANIA, By Dr. J. S. Van Teslaar 
WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN HOLLAND, By Cornelia De Groot 
WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN MEXICO, By Mercedes Godoy 
WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN ICELAND, By Holmfridur Arnadottir 
WHEN I WAS A BOY IN PERSIA, By Youel B. Mirza 
WHEN I WAS A BOY IN SCOTLAND, By George McP. Hunter 
WHEN I WAS A BOY IN NORWAY, By John 0. Hall 
WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWITZERLAND, By S. Louise Patteson 
WHEN I WAS A BOY IN DENMARK, By H. Trolle-Steenstrup 
WHEN I WAS A BOY IN INDIA, By Satyananda Roy 
WHEN I WAS A BOY IN TURKEY, By Ahmed Sabri Bey 
WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN FRANCE, By Georgette Beuret 
WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ARMENIA, By Manoog Der Alexanian 
WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN, By Anna-Mia Hertzman 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 

BOSTON 















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WHEN I WAS A GIRL 
IN SWEDEN 



ANNA-MIA HERTZMAN 

(Leonne de Cambrey) 


ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS 



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BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 










HL63I 

.H-s 


Copyright, 1926, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 

All Rights Reserved 

When I Was a Girl In Sweden 


■1 ^ k \ 

Printed in U. S. A. 


IRorwoofc ipress 
BERWICK & SMITH CO. 
Norwood, Mass. 


SEP 2 378 

©C1A950157 

Hi? f 





To LEO, my son 

071 d 

To the memory of ARVID , 
my husband 




CONTENTS 


I. My Birthplace and Early Mem¬ 
ories .11 

II. A Day Spent in the Country . 23 

III. I Escape Punishment ... 36 

IY. A Swedish Christmas . . .46 

Y. How a Tame Bear Brought Me 

Disgrace ... 67 

YI. On Uncle Petter’s Farm . . 76 

YII. My Friends and Playmates, 

Also a Few Tales . . 94 

VIII. Magic Spells .... 106 

IX. The “Free Week.” Peasant 

Customs. 118 

X. Father and I Visit Relatives 

in Stockholm . . . 126 

XI. School-Days .... 134 

XII. Stars and Stripes. I Take an 

Important Step . . . 146 


r 














ILLUSTRATIONS 
Anna-Mia Hertzman . . Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

Interior of Peasant Home ... 22 

Sko Kloster Castle.22 

Village Playmates. 36 

Swedish Interior.36 

Trolleholm.44 

Peasant Children.44 

The Royal Castle.66 

Typical Sleeping-Apartment . . 92 

Examples of Swedish Handicraft . 92 

The Varend Dress.100 

Bergkvara.120 

Two Young Friends.120 

The Nordic Museum.128 

A Viking.148 


9 















WHEN I WAS A GIRL 
IN SWEDEN 

CHAPTER I 

MY BIRTHPLACE AND EARLY MEMORIES 

I was born in the province of Smaland, 
some miles south of the city of Oscar- 
shamn. The house was a very quaint 
one—old, grey, and built of stone. The 
windows had numberless tiny leaded panes 
of greenish glass. In the living-room 
there was an enormous semicircular fire¬ 
place. I do not remember the years my 
parents lived in this house. It was shown 
to me in later years by my mother, who 
wanted me to see the place where my only 
brother Emil and I had been born. (The 
little brother had died before I was born, 

and both Mother and Father deeply 

11 


12 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 

mourned the loss of their first-born child 
and only son.) 

The first home I can distinctly recall 
was located out in the country, near the 
village Stora Fighult. Our house which 
faced east was a new one and timbered, 

holding a commanding position on the 

/ 

highest knoll of land in the vicinity. The 
grounds were terraced and enclosed by a 
low stone wall topped with a red-and- 
white picket fence. Terrace slopes, 
banked by retaining shrubs, contrasted 
with the level spaces where informal beds 
and borders of annual and perennial 
flowers in their seasons bloomed in great 
masses. Mother was a great lover of 
growing things. 

Early in the spring we welcomed the 
shyly bowing snowdrops, the charming 
blue “ grape-hyacinths,” the daffodils, and 
the tulips; later came “bleeding-hearts” 
and aquilegias. 

Back of our house grew two stately 
spruce-trees, looking like a pair of giant 


MY BIRTHPLACE 


13 


Christmas trees. To my childish mind, 
they seemed to stand guard over our house. 
Nature had an expanse that ever since has 
caused me to feel cramped in the cities 
where I have been forced to live. 

The spruce forest began right back of 
our house, and in the dim, blue-green 
shadows one could imagine elves and 
woodland sprites flitting about. Near my 
home, hidden away in the dense forest, 
were two small lakes; dreamy, darkly 
mysterious they lay, framed by lofty pines 
and spruce-trees. It was said that in those 
two lakes dwelled Nacken, the Swedish 
water-god. We children were forbidden 
to go near the shores of those two lakes, 
for it may be that the water-sprites might 
pull us down to Nacken; we would be 
forced to remain his companions forever, 
and listen to his mournful harping and 
singing. Also, if we ventured too far into 
the forest, we might be carried off by the 
wood-nymph or some of her attendants; 
or even be taken by the trolls into their 


14 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


gloomy underground homes below the 
mountains. 

My secret naughty wish was to be taken 
captive by some of those un-human be¬ 
ings. Often would I deliberately separate 
myself from my village playmates, and 
with thumping heart and hurrying feet 
dash in among the towering trees in the 
hope of catching, at least, a glimpse of 
some uncanny creature. But, alas, it was 
not my good fortune to meet any such 
adventure. Fear of the unseen world had 
not been planted in my soul; rather, my 
gentle mother always warned us not to do 
anything to offend the elves and sprites 
which might flit about unseen. 

Our living-room was a pleasant one, 
especially on cold, stormy winter evenings. 
A great sofa stood between two windows 
at the upper end of the room, with a round 
table in front. A reading lamp, books, 
illustrated papers, and a work-basket were 
on the table. Hand-made cupboards. 


MY BIRTHPLACE 


15 


chests, armchairs, and rockers, and a tall, 
old, blue-painted Mora-clock were among 
other furnishings. A cleverly constructed 
gate-leg table stood near the door leading 
to the kitchen, and could be extended un¬ 
til it would seat thirty people. But for 
family use, only the drop leaves were 
raised and the table laid for meals. 

Around this table gathered my parents 
and Father’s tannery assistants, our maid, 
and we children. One had to sit silent and 
patient, waiting until the elders were 
served, and not a morsel of food must be 
left on a child’s plate when the meal was 
finished. Grace was said before we sat 
down; afterwards we again thanked God 
for the food, and then our parents, over a 
deep curtsy. At the table children never 
spoke unless spoken to. This practice 
taught us to listen attentively to our eld¬ 
ers, and we heard much about the af¬ 
fairs of the outer world, for Father kept 
himself well informed about politics and 
the important events in Europe. 


16 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


Our happiest hours indoors were spent 
around the huge open fireplace during the 
long winter evenings. Great birchwood 
logs burned lustily and brightly. To me, 
our fireplace seemed like an altar. Here 
we sat warm and snug while a blizzard 
might pile the snow up against our win¬ 
dows in great hard drifts. Stories were 
told, or somebody would read aloud while 
the maid’s spinning-wheel kept up a soft 
purr. No idle hands were permitted. In 
Sweden, it is considered a disgrace not 
to know how to sew, knit, spin, embroider, 
or make laces. 

My father was a large, splendidly built 
man. He stood six feet six in his stock¬ 
ing feet, and carried himself with pride. 
To my childish mind he was quite the 
most awe-inspiring man in the world. 
And in his own household he ruled like 
the Czar of Russia. His word was law. 
None of us ever thought of disobeying 
him. But he, too, could unbend and be- 


MY BIRTHPLACE 


11 


come playful; this softer mood usually 
came upon him at Christmas—but more of 
that later. 

Gentleness was the outstanding trait of 
Mother’s character. She was a plump, 
pretty, motherly little woman, with lovely, 
wide-set, blue-grey eyes, and a mass of 
rust-brown hair that she always wore in 
braids wound round her head. People 
loved her for her kindliness and considera¬ 
tion of others, this mother of five children. 
(I was the oldest living child, and had 
three younger sisters.) 

Both my parents were book-lovers. 
Each time Father returned from a busi¬ 
ness trip to Stockholm, he brought back 
with him a box of the latest books. These 
books we eagerly read, and also loaned to 
our friends. As I look back on my child¬ 
hood, I can now see that it was not for 
their few material possessions that my 
parents were looked up to in the com¬ 
munity, but for what they were within— 
their ideals and integrity. In a manner, 


18 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 

our house was a sort of intellectual center 
in the neighborhood. 

The earliest distinct thrill touching my 
own inner life and yearnings that I re¬ 
member was when Father returned from 
a trip to the capital. I was eight years 
old at the time. He brought me a little 
box of water-color paints, also a few 
brushes and a book of pictures to copy. I 
had always loved bright colors, and my 
joy had often been keen to deck out my 
sisters’ dolls in the gaudiest of garments. 
That box of colors—what unlimited pos¬ 
sibilities it contained! Secretly I cher¬ 
ished two dreams for my future: I wanted 
to become an artist and a writer. Alas, 
my ambition to become an artist had to 
be laid aside when a series of painful cir¬ 
cumstances, after I had arrived in Amer¬ 
ica, forced me to choose another voca¬ 
tion. But that box of colors gave me 
such happiness that I scarcely slept the 
night after Father got home. 

Fortunately the next day was Satur^ 


MY BIRTHPLACE 


19 


day, and I was exempt from my usual les¬ 
sons. The ordinary school subjects were 
taught me at home, for my parents hoped 
to be able to send me to a good private 
school later. So on Saturday, after my 
various tasks around the house had been 
done, I would be free to paint. 

I was up and dressed before daylight. 
My most tedious and tiring chore was to 
fill the huge wooden container and the 
iron cistern in the kitchen with fresh water 
from the pump out in the yard. One of 
Father’s tannery helpers did the pump¬ 
ing into the great vat under the pump. 
Then came my part of the work. Also, 
following the water-carrying, the furni¬ 
ture in the living-room had to be care¬ 
fully dusted after the room had been 
swept and aired. 

Finally I was free to do what I pleased. 
I scorned the little book of pictures to be 
copied that Father had brought me. In¬ 
stead, I had decided on doing a gaily col¬ 
ored illustration from the Bible History: 


20 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


Joseph at the Court of Pharaoh. This was 
fancy enough to suit me. The walls were 
red, there were green-and-yellow pillars 
with papyrus and lotus decorations, while 
the Egyptians themselves were arrayed 
in the gaudiest of raiment. 

Of course I knew nothing about paint¬ 
ing, so my work was a mass of meaning¬ 
less blobs and streaks of color. I was 
utterly discouraged, but I had faith in 
prayer, so that night I astonished Mother 
in praying thus: “Dearest God, please 
send one of the color-fairies to help me 
with my painting, and I promise you in 
return to be the best little girl in the 
world. Amen.” 

Wise, understanding Mother! She had 
lovingly listened to what I prayed for. 
So on Monday afternoon an hour was set 
aside for my first painting lesson. She 
had some skill in painting birds and gay 
flower mottoes. Step by step she taught 
me what she knew about color magic. 
Naturally, her knowledge of the art was 


MY BIRTHPLACE 


21 


somewhat limited, but how carefully 
she handled my little precious cakes of 
colors! 

Best of all, she aroused in my soul an 
early love for Nature in all her changing 
moods. Mother was passionately fond of 
blue. She showed me the countless tints 
of this color in flowers, in the sky, and in 
our own beloved Baltic Sea. One sea 
view I shall always treasure: the island 
of the Jungfrun, mistily outlined, like a 
huge, inverted, blue-grey bowl afloat on 
the shimmering blue-green of the sea at 
the very edge of the horizon. 

Father and Mother loved beautiful 
things, especially pictures. On the walls 
in our house were some inherited paint¬ 
ings; subjects from our mythology and 
history books, also a fine likeness of our 
beloved King Oscar II, and an etching of 
the Royal Castle in Stockholm. 

But my enthusiasm for painting and 
colors was not allowed to interfere with 
my work and studies. I was allowed to 


22 WEEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


play with my colors only after every task 
was satisfactorily done. 

I had learned to read at the age of five, 
Mother having been my teacher. My 
reading consisted of Bible stories, fairy 
tales, Pilgrim’s Progress, Gulliver’s 
Travels, Grimm, Dante’s Divine Comedy 
with Gustave Dore illustrations—fearful, 
awe-inspiring pictures. But Homer’s 
Iliad and Hans Christian Andersen’s 
Fairy Tales were my earliest favorites. 



Interior of Peasant Home. 

Showing spinning-wheel, built-in bed, with wardrobe at foot, 
wall-decorations, and Mora-clock. 



Sko Kloster Castle. 

The Swedes built for the future. This is a fair example of the 
architecture of the Middle Ages. On Christmas Eve, a lighted 

taper burns in every window. 














CHAPTER II 


A DAY SPENT IN THE COUNTRY 

One day in July Hulda, who was our 
maid at that time, had packed a basket of 
foodstuffs together with sister’s and my 
pet dolls—also my cross-stitch work—for 
we were to spend the whole day in the 
country. It was only seven in the morn¬ 
ing when Bystrom, the rural mail-carrier, 
came with his rig to pick us up. 

We rode with him for an hour, away 
from the sea into the country. At last we 
were set down near the ruins of an old 
sawmill where a stone bridge spanned a 
river. The scenery around here was very 
pretty, hills steep with cool ravines be¬ 
tween them. The river ran placidly 
through a wide meadow with little clumps 
of shady trees here and there, and hazel 
and wild-crab. 

Hulda carried my sister “ piggy-back ” 

23 


24 WEEN 1 WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


while I lugged the basket. Soon enough 
we found a spot where we decided to 
spend the day. It was a shady little copse 
of oaks and maples about fifty meters 
away from the river bank. 

Herr Bystrom would sound his post¬ 
horn in the evening on his return, and wait 
for us by the stone bridge. A glow of 
utter happiness—vividly remembered to 
this day—filled my being. To have a 
whole long day away from all restraint, 
from household tasks, lessons, and er¬ 
rands, was a rare treat for me. 

Constance was put to sleep on the 
shawl, and Hulda and I strolled about. 
Our maid knew this locality well, for her 
widowed mother and four sons lived in the 
village on the hill. 

Hulda’s father had been a well-to-do 
farmer once upon a time, but heavy drink¬ 
ing had caused him to neglect his farm 
and run heavily into debt. One winter 
night while driving home from a drink¬ 
ing party on one of the islands in the 


A DAY SPENT IN THE COUNTRY 25 


Baltic, he had happened to cross a thin 
spot in the frozen Kalmar Sound, and 
horses and sled, with the half-sober farmer, 
had gone to the bottom. His widow and 
her five children had to leave the farm to 
creditors. Hulda’s parents and mine had 
always known each other, so when the girl 
was grown up, she came to us to help 
Mother with the household tasks and to 
look after us children. 

To-day after a little while, the village 
children came down to the river to bathe 
and play. Hulda knew them all, and soon 
I had a number of new playmates. We 
picked luscious wild strawberries, so ruby- 
red and fragrant, and strung them, like 
beads, on long straws, then ate the berries 
off the straws. Nils-Johan, Hulda’s 
youngest brother, made for me a cunning 
little basket of satiny white birch-bark, 
and this the village children soon had filled 
with the biggest and reddest of straw¬ 
berries, which were carefully covered with 
maple leaves to keep the berries fresh un- 


26 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


til it was time for us to go home. I 
thanked the children for their gift. 

Next we played “ Midsummer-bride.” 
The tallest of village girls was to be 
crowned bride. We made garlands of 
flowers and oak leaves, also a daisy wreath 
for a crown, and with this we decked the 
chosen one. Then we had a procession 
with music—Nils-Johan had a mouth- 
organ, and another boy had a lev-jok or 
clay-cuckoo, on which quite a number of 
simple tunes could be played. Hulda, too, 
took part in this game; she led the march. 

While we were thus making merry, sis¬ 
ter had wakened. She stumbled to her 
feet and strolled off towards the river, 
unobserved by Hulda or me; we were per¬ 
haps too intent on the fun of marching 
and singing to think of little Constance, 
who may have become confused by the 
noise and commotion while still only half 
awake. 

Suddenly Jan-Ola, one of the older vil¬ 
lage boys, gave a shout of alarm and 


A DAY SPENT IN THE COUNTRY 27 

dashed off towards the river. In a few 
minutes he returned, dripping, with my 
tiny sister in his arms sputtering and 
screaming at the top of her voice. The 
tumble into the water had of course thor¬ 
oughly frightened and wakened her. The 
lad explained that he had suddenly caught 
a glimpse of Constance’s pink frock slip¬ 
ping off the river bank and disappearing. 

Poor Hulda was trembling and pale. 
If my sister had drowned, she would have 
been blamed. Constance had to be un¬ 
dressed, for she was soaked to the skin. 
We wrapped her in a shawl, and her little 
garments were spread on the hazel bushes 
to dry. 

Once more order and quiet were re¬ 
stored. Then came the clanging of the 
vailing s-klocka calling the village children 
and the workers in the fields home for 
their noonday meal and a welcome hour 
of rest. Hulda, my sister, and I all ate 
heartily of the food we had brought with 
us. Meanwhile we were eagerly looking 


28 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


forward to the return of the village chil¬ 
dren ; they had promised to come and play 
with me during the afternoon. They 
spoke of a mysterious game called Aka-pa- 
andan, about which I was very curious. 
Our maid merely smiled, and would not 
give me any explanation about how this 
game was played. 

In the middle of the meadow was a 
solitary huge rock fully the size of a 
church. There was a legend about this 
rock and other similar ones found here 
and there on the plains. It is said that 
in the days of giants, these great creatures 
often amused themselves playing “ catch ” 
with these rocks lying around loose on the 
mountain slopes. Once in a while a giant 
failed to catch the rock tossed towards 
him, and being a lazy race, they always 
let such “ pebbles ” remain where they had 
fallen. 

But my father had a different explana¬ 
tion for the presence of those huge rocks 
and boulders: they had been carried there 


A DAY SPENT IN THE COUNTRY 29 


by the glaciers during a period when 
Sweden was covered with ice. But I must 
confess that I preferred to think that the 
giants had tossed these rocks about in 
their play. 

When the village children returned, 
they almost at once initiated me in the 
promised new game of Aka-pa-andan. 
The great rock was to be used in this 
game. One side of this rock had a gentle 
slope which made it possible to scramble 
to its top, while there was on one side a 
sheer perpendicular drop that made me 
dizzy when I looked down towards the 
ground on reaching the top. I forgot to 
state that we had all taken off our shoes 
and stockings, for we could get up to the 
top so much more easily barefooted. 

The game required that we girls gather 
up our skirts in back, and bunch them into 
a bloomer effect. Then we seated our¬ 
selves at the top of the huge rock and slid 
down at great speed to the ground. The 
girls tobogganed down first. After us 


30 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


came the boys with a great shouting; they 
had both arms free to wave in the air as 
they went down, while we girls were ham¬ 
pered with managing our skirts. I found 
the keenest joy in playing this new game. 
But retribution waited for me: my dress 
was not made of stout material like that 
of my village playmates. My frock was 
just an ordinary gingham. To be sure, 
it was woven on Mother’s hand-loom, but 
it was not much heavier than Scotch 
gingham, such as any American girl 
might wear to school. This game hope¬ 
lessly ruined the back of my frock. One 
of the elder village girls, who saw this 
state of affairs first, kindly and quietly 
drew Hulda’s attention to the large worn- 
through place which showed my petticoat. 
Such a catastrophe would, of course, merit 
a spanking, unless Hulda could smuggle 
my garment up to the attic, where all 
soiled clothing was kept, until the washing 
week came around. So now, all the rest 
of the afternoon was occupied in singing 


A DAY SPENT IN TEE COUNTRY 31 


ballads, telling stories, and reading from 
the book of fairy tales I had brought with 
me. Finally the post-horn sounded the 
signal for our departure. Nils-Johan 
carried sister Constance, who was dressed 
in her once-more-dry garments, and we 
left the meadow escorted by the village 
children. I wore the shawl draped cor¬ 
ner-wise so as to cover my torn dress, and 
having bade the children good-bye, were 
soon jogging along behind “ Brunte,” 
Herr Bystrom’s sturdy horse. 

When we reached home, Father met us 
at the door, took the sleeping Constance 
out of Hulda’s arms, and laid her on the 
living-room sofa. Then, taking me by 
the hand, he spoke in a curious, hushed 
voice: “ Come up to Mama’s room, Anna- 
Mia; we’ll show you something.” 

A horrible fear gripped my heart, and 
my knees almost doubled up. I still wore 
the shawl, so Father couldn’t possibly 
have seen the ragged hole in my dress. 
Would I be punished for something they 


32 WHEN 1 WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


had discovered during the day? What 
had I done? It would not do to ask 
Father. He seldom condescended to ex¬ 
plain in advance why correction was due. 

At last we had reached the second floor. 
Straight to my parents’ room we went. 
The door was softly opened by Father. 

• The blinds were drawn, and a strange 
quiet made me feel as if we were in church. 
The great bed was let down, and on it lay 
Mother herself, with her lovely brown 
hair in two long braids as thick as my 
arms. I dared not speak, and my fear 
almost made me sink to the floor. What 
had I done now? Had I caused Mother 
to be ill? Why was Father so strangely 
silent? To be sure, he had let go of my 
hand and was stooping down over my 
mother, softly stroking her forehead. 
“ Feeling better, Gamla Gumma? " How 
gentle his voice sounded! Just as it did 
when he was pleased with everything 
around him. “ Anna-Mia wants to see 
her new sister.” 


A DAY SPENT IN THE COUNTRY 33 


“ She is asleep. Where is Constance? ” 
Mother’s voice sounded very tired. But 
in my fear-ridden heart a new joy had 
leaped into being. A new sister had been 
brought to our house while we had been 
out in the country. 

From the farthest corner of the room 
came Mor Karin, a woman usually hired 
when sickness came. In her arms was a 
little bundle wrapped in a pink quilt. 
She seated herself in a chair by Mother’s 
bed and lifted a soft fold of flannel; then 
I saw a tiny face, red and curiously 
wrinkled. The eyes were closed, but the 
buttonhole mouth made little sucking 
movements. Father had raised the blind 
a little so that I could see the wee creature 
better. While I gazed at this new sister 
of mine, something big and warm came to 
life in my breast. I wanted to do some¬ 
thing nice for her. I knew in a flash that 
dolls would never mean anything to me 
again. Then I remembered something I 
could do. Down in the vestibule on the 


34 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 

console I had left the birch-bark basket 
of wild strawberries. Off I dashed to 
fetch it. The protecting maple leaves I 
flung aside as I raced up the stairs. 

“ Look, I brought her some strawber¬ 
ries,” I panted, holding out the basket to 
Mor Karin. “ She can have them all.” 

“You silly child! The baby cannot eat 
strawberries.” Father laughed softly as 
he took the basket out of my eager hands 
and passed it to Mother. “ Smell them.” 
He held the berries close to her face, and 
she sniffed the fragrance and smiled ten¬ 
derly at him. But I felt hurt and resent¬ 
ful. Father had called me silly and 
laughed at me. Unobserved, I left the 
room and found comfort in Hulda’s arms. 
Then a new terror overwhelmed me. My 
shawl had slipped off. Suppose the con¬ 
dition of my dress had been seen by 
Father and Mor Karin? That would 
mean punishment, even now. 

But when the great piles of clean and 
ironed clothes were sorted out to be put 


A DAY SPENT IN THE COUNTRY 35 


away or mended, Mother was only greatly 
puzzled about the enormous hole in the 
back of my red-and-white gingham skirt. 
Hulda and I kept the secret, however, 
and a new breadth of material was in¬ 
serted when the skirt was let down, for I 
was a tall, “ leggy ” girl, always outgrow¬ 
ing my garments and wearing out more 
shoes than any other child—that is, ac¬ 
cording to Father’s statements. 

I always seemed to be breaking in new 
shoes. Father did not permit us to wear 
mended ones because, being in the shoe 
and leather business, he wanted his family 
to have the smartest and best footwear. 

By this time Father had sold our Stora 
Fighult home. Now we lived in a tiny 
seaport trading-place called Figeholm; 
but this place was soon left for the more 
prosperous and up-to-date city of Oscar- 
shamn, where Father opened a shoe and 
leather business, although retaining his 
tannery interest for the time being. My 
years in Oscarshamn were happy ones. 


CHAPTER III 


I ESCAPE PUNISHMENT 

In Sweden, beggars and those depend¬ 
ent on people’s generosity fared well at 
Christmas. In all well-to-do households, 
special batches of baking were set aside 
for the poor. 

In connection with this, I remember 
one embarrassing incident—that is, em¬ 
barrassing to Mother. One Saturday just 
before Christmas, I was allowed to go 
down on the Kalmar Sound for an hour 
of skating. I think I was nine years old 
at the time. This forenoon I met Stina 
Flink, the daughter of one of the poorer 
families in our little town. I was a demo¬ 
cratic girl in the choice of playmates; in 
most cases, my parents did not interfere. 
Stina and her brother, Kalle, were both 
friends of mine. 


36 



Village Playmates. 

Such they were, my friendly village playmates with whom 

I spent a happy day. 



Swedish Interior. 

With sturdy hand-made furniture, quaintly decorated and handed 

down from parents to children. 











1 ESCAPE PUNISHMENT 


37 


On this day the girl was dressed in her 
most ragged clothes; on her arm hung a 
big, empty basket. And I was smartly 
arrayed in high, brand-new skating boots, 
my nice fur-trimmed school coat, fur hat, 
and muff. Stina explained why she was 
so unusually shabby to-day, having been 
sent out by her parents to do the yearly 
Christmas begging. I must have looked 
interested in this expedition, for she sud¬ 
denly invited me to come along. “ Only, 
Anna-Mia, you must not wear those 
clothes,” she said. 

“ But I haven’t anything else to wear, 
except my new Christmas things,” I pro¬ 
tested. 

“ Come home with me. I think we can 
fix you up. It’s great fun.” Stina was 
always the quick girl to think up things 
to do in an emergency. “You see,” she 
continued, “ they’ll not give you the lim- 
yor, sausages, apples, and other good 
things unless you are poorly dressed.” 

I am an impulsive person—action comes 



38 WEEN 1 WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


first, reflection afterwards, often when it 
is too late. So I went home with Stina. 
A little while later, my friend and I set 
out together; outwardly I was a changed 
being. I wore a rather long grey-and-red 
striped skirt—a petticoat belonging to 
Stina’s mother—which hid my nice skat¬ 
ing boots. Instead of my own coat I 
wore one that Kalle had outgrown. Over 
this was tied an old and ragged plaid 
shawl folded crosswise, and the corners 
passed under my arms and tied in the 
back; my braids were tucked inside this 
shawl. For head-dress, there was a smaller 
square of woolen stuff, and that, too, was 
folded corner-wise and pinned under my 
chin, well drawn down to hide most of 
my face. Stina took care so that I 
wouldn’t look too clean. A bit of soot 
from under the coffee-pot was rubbed 
into my nose and around the lips and eyes, 
and then partly wiped off so that it did the 
trick. A pair of big grey mittens darned 
in various colors were on my hands. Then 


I ESCAPE PUNISHMENT 39 

a basket, like my friend’s, hung on my 
arm. 

To say that I fully entered into the 
spirit of the adventure would hardly state 
the whole truth. Recklessness and wicked 
elation caused me to wriggle and tingle 
inwardly as we stood on the kitchen door¬ 
steps of the Mayor Stolpe’s house. The 
Fru Borgmastare herself was in the 
kitchen and doled out to us the various 
cakes of limpor , the pieces of salt pork, 
and the potato-and-meat sausages set 
aside for the poor. It may be that I curt¬ 
sied a trifle deeper than Stina, because 
Fru Stolpe patted my humbly bent 
shawled head, and told me that I was a 
polite little girl. From kitchen to kitchen 
we went. Only from one or two places 
were we forced to go out empty-handed. 
To me it was glorious fun. The forenoon 
flew by. I was greatly alarmed when the 
town clock struck two, for I should have 
been home an hour before. To be absent 
from a meal at our house, without a plausi- 


40 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


ble reason, meant severe punishment, and 
fibbing was one of the deadliest of deadly 
sins. So I decided to tell my parents that 
I had helped Stina beg some Christmas 
supplies, spanking or not. Now I felt 
better. “ It is always best to prepare for 
the worst,” as our old Great-Aunt Botilda 
used to say. 

Stina was hungry and so was I. We 
went back to her house, therefore—they 
lived in one room and shared the kitchen 
with another family. Kalle, too, had been 
out begging and had arrived home ahead 
of us. He had made the rye-coffee fla¬ 
vored with chicory, and we had black rye 
bread spread with ister-smor, pork fat 
seasoned with spices and used by poor peo¬ 
ple to make the coarse rye bread go down 
easier. Of course, we dared not cut into 
the soft fresh loaves of the Christmas 
bread; that would have been almost sacri¬ 
legious. But in my muff was a bag of 
polka-grisar, so we had each a few pieces 
of the peppermint-flavored candy to take 


I ESCAPE PUNISHMENT 


41 


away the taste of the chicory and pork 
fat. Then we set out once more. 

This time we ran into two other poor 
girls, also out begging, and whom I did 
not know. I feared discovery, but Stina 
explained that I was a friend of hers help¬ 
ing her just to-day. This seemed to sat¬ 
isfy their curiosity, so we passed on. In 
several of the kitchens I knew that the 
ladies were friends of my mother’s; so in 
such places I modestly stood in the darkest 
corner, and as near the door as I could, 
keeping my head down and saying noth¬ 
ing. In one kitchen I felt ready to run 
away. Fru Bergman, Tante Herta, who 
was Mother’s best-beloved friend, with 
her own hands put the sur-limpa and the 
sifted rye loafs into my basket, and also 
a little cake of golden-yellow saffrans- 
kaka, a delicacy seldom given to Christ¬ 
mas beggars. But then, Tante ITerta 
was the most soft-hearted woman in 
our town. “ Whose little girl are you? ” 
she asked me, as I stood trembling behind 


42 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


Stina. A paralyzing fear gripped me for 
a moment. 

“ I am Mother’s little girl,” I mur¬ 
mured with a dry throat. 

“ She is a cousin of mine,” Stina boldly 
declared. 

Now I felt less alarmed; Pastor Wes- 
tenius had said in one of his sermons that 
before God all people were brothers and 
sisters. That, of course, made Stina’s 
mother and mine sisters, so in a way, we 
two girls were cousins. 

We continued until it was dark. I was 
tired, for the basket was very heavy—so 
heavy that Stina had been obliged to 
transfer some of my stuff into her own 
basket. I was glad to get out of the 
beggar’s garb, wash my hands and face, 
and get into my own clothes once more. 

As I cautiously opened our vestibule 
door, I saw light in the formak, or best 
room; Mother had guests for coffee. It 
entered my mind to make a bold confes¬ 
sion of what I had done. My heart gave 


1 ESCAPE PUNISHMENT 43 
a leap, for among the voices I also heard 

I 

Tante Herta’s. So, in order to call at¬ 
tention to my arrival, I let my skates fall. 

“ Is that you, Anna-Mia? ” Mother’s 
voice sounded as usual. “ Did you skate 
too far out to come home at noon? ” 

Now I had to come forward; there was 
no escape. A sudden feeling of fear made 
me weak-kneed. But first I had to greet 
Mother’s four lady friends. Respectfully 
I curtsied and shook hands with them all. 
Now I felt a bit calmer. 

“ Mother, I didn’t go skating,” I stam¬ 
mered. 

“ But where were you all day? ” Now 
an edge of inquisition had entered Moth¬ 
er’s voice. 

“ I met Stina Flink, and went begging 
with her. We had such fun! ” I stopped 
and drew a deep breath. “ The ladies 
gave me just as much as they gave her. 
Fru Borgmastare said I was a polite girl.” 

Now, thank God! the truth was out, 
come what may. 


44 WEEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


“Anna-Mia!” Seldom did Mother’s 
voice sound that way. I looked to Tante 
Herta for help. She understood, I think, 
for she set down her coffee-cup and drew 
me up to her. 

“ Come, dear, tell us all about it. Why 
did you go begging with this girl? ” 

“ Stina asked me to come with her.” 

“ Tell us about it,” prompted Tante 
Lovisa, who was the wife of Father’s busi¬ 
ness partner. “ Did Karin give you a 
limpa and a bag of cookies and nuts? ” A 
flash of fun leaped into her eyes. All at 
once I felt that Mother’s friends would 
understand. So while they sipped their 
third cup or lilla taren, I told them all I 
could recall of the day’s work. 

And, wonder of wonders! I really did 
escape punishment. Mother explained 
that because I had told the truth, she 
would let me off. I do not think Father 
ever heard of my begging adventure. I 
know he would have punished me severely* 




Trolleholm. Peasant Children. 

A fine historical residence, age-defying and Enjoying some raw turnips. 

dignified. 







































CHAPTER IV 


A SWEDISH CHRISTMAS 

No other word in the Swedish language 
is so packed with happy thrills as the little 
word “ Jul ” which means Christmas. 
Even the dark, raw days of November 
pass somehow, in looking forward to the 
great festival season. 

Our Christmas preparations begin early 
in the fall. We gather the hazel-nuts, and 
the finest and rosiest winter apples are 
put aside to hang on the tree. Early in 
November the hams and the many vari¬ 
eties of sausages hang in the smoke-house 
to be cured and smoked, and the meat is 
in the pickling-brine. All to be saved for 
the Christmas season which, in our coun¬ 
try, lasts for several weeks. 

In all well-to-do families there are new 

frocks, wraps, and shoes for all the mem- 

45 


46 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


bers, all of which are made ready in ample 
time. The long evenings are occupied 
with mysterious handiwork, often behind 
locked doors—gifts for the family. 
School-bags, tray-cloths, cushion-tops, and 
pretty mats and mottoes are to be em¬ 
broidered in bright colors by us girls. 
Articles are to be carved in wood, such as 
photograph frames, paper-knives, nut- 
bowls. Mother is busy knitting a many- 
colored scarf with soft, fleecy zephyr-yarn 
for Father. 

The bees have been industrious during 
the summer. There are great cakes of 
beeswax to be made into fragrant candles. 
My earliest-remembered Christmas work 
was to cut the candlewicks the required 
length and make a knot at one end, then 
push the other end of the wick through 
the tip of the tin mould. The knot pre¬ 
vents the wick from being pulled out while 
the wax is being poured into the mould. 
The pourer takes a firm hold of the wick 
so as to make it run straight through the 


A SWEDISH CHRISTMAS 


47 


center of the candle, else the flame would 
be uneven and the candle burn lopsidedly. 
All the moulds are set in a tub of snow to 
harden the candles quickly, so that these 
moulds can be used over again. 

While the candles hardened, it was my 
pleasant task to keep the wicks pulled 
straight, and each wick end must be in the 
center of its circle of wax. To get the 
finished candle out of the mould was ac¬ 
complished by quickly plunging the mould 
into a pot of hot water, and the candle 
would slip out readily. To me this candle¬ 
making seemed almost a religious cere¬ 
mony; we used these hand-made candles 
only at Christmas. Mother had a delight¬ 
ful, secret way of perfuming the wax with 
some fragrant oils, the odor of which I 
have been able to find nowhere else. She 
took that secret with her to the grave. 

The last two weeks before Christmas 
are weeks of intense activities. Bread of 
several kinds must be baked in huge quan¬ 
tities, like the sweet and sour limpa , a spe- 


48 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 

cial Christmas bread flavored with cara¬ 
way seeds and finely chopped dry orange- 
peel. Various kinds of wheat-cakes are 
made; also piles of the most amusing 
gingerbread figures: boys and girls, 
camels and horses, pigs and lambs, hearts 
and stars, and all are decorated most 
cunningly with almonds, currants, raisins, 
and red-and-white sugar. 

Then there is the Jul-ale to be brewed 
and the lut-fisk to be prepared. The lut- 
fisk is a variety of sun-dried cod imported 
from Norway. It takes weeks of soaking 
in water and a strong wood-ash lye to 
soften this fish. Then the taste of the lye 
must be drawn out by further constant 
soaking in water, for the fish must be firm 
of texture and snow-white before it is fit 
to serve on Christmas Eve. 

Before the great feast, every Swedish 
home is scrubbed from attic to cellar. Not 
a speck of dirt or dust is left when the 
twilight of December twenty-third falls. 
Jul-afton —the day before Christmas—is 


A SWEDISH CHRISTMAS 


49 


also a great day. To us children it meant 
more than Christmas Day itself. 

Early in the morning on December 
twenty-fourth, we were served coffee and 
doppa while we were still in bed, doppa 
literally meaning to dip in the coffee any¬ 
thing served with it, such as sweet rolls, 
rusks, or little dry cakes. This, our first 
breakfast, tasted delicious, for the night 
had been “ nippy,” the porcelain stove 
may have cooled off, and our maid had 
no time to make a fresh fire. That morn¬ 
ing after our coffee and doppa, we were 
allowed to enter the chamber in which our 
parents slept. We came in to wish them 
“ Good Juir and then were usually in¬ 
vited to creep under the coverlets and 
cuddle up close to Mother while waiting 

j 

for our room to get warm so we could 
dress. 

During the Christmas season, I always 
felt happier than usual, for no matter 
what mischief I did, I was not punished 
for it. And, somehow, it seemed so much 


50 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


easier to be a well-behaved girl during the 
great festival season than at any other 
time of the year. Even my two name-days 
and my birthday were no exception; if I 
deserved punishment, I surely got it. 

As soon as we had dressed and said our 
morning prayers, we were set to work un¬ 
wrapping the decorations for the Christ¬ 
mas tree. Of course, we had no glitter¬ 
ing, multi-colored ornaments such as 
American boys and girls hang on their 
trees. We had a few meager treasures of 
tinted and blown glass, gold and silver 
stars, angels of wax and paper with gauzy 
wings and shimmering robes; but we used 
home-made ornaments, such as tiny bas¬ 
kets for nuts and bonbons woven of bright 
paper strips. Then, too, we had gilded 
pine and spruce cones, also silver and 
gold-painted walnuts; and what with the 
red apples and gingerbread figures and 
the candles, our Christmas tree looked 
lovely. 

Early in the forenoon, the cutting of 


A SWEDISH CHRISTMAS 51 

the tree was done. Father had permission 
from a farmer just outside our town to 
cut the tree he liked. If the weather was 
nice, my sister Constance and I were al¬ 
lowed to come with Father to the spruce 
forest and help him select the prettiest 
tree: he looked almost like a stately pagan 
priest in his fur coat and helmet-like fur 
cap, with the axe slung across his shoul¬ 
der. 

He always made a pretty little cere¬ 
mony out of this tree-cutting. After a 
perfect one had been found, he would walk 
up to the nearest and largest tree, doff his 
cap, bow low before it, and say in a deep, 
solemn voice: “ Dear Father Spruce, I 
salute you. May we bring your pretty 
child to our house to help us celebrate 
Christmas? ” 

For a few moments we were all tense, 
waiting for the reply. We girls imagined 
we saw the lofty top of the old tree bend 
slightly. This we told Father and he 
took it as a favorable sign. And with a 


52 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


few strokes of his axe, the little tree was 
felled. Soon it lay on the sled, and we 
would return to the city. Most people 
bought their trees in town, but Father al¬ 
ways preferred to cut ours himself. Next 
thing, the fragrant dark-green pyramid 
was set up in its green-painted wooden 
base and we began decorating it. 

Soon the most tantalizing odors pene¬ 
trated from the kitchen, and we suddenly 
discovered that we were so hungry, our 
mouths actually watered. In a short while 
Lotta, our maid, invited us to the kitchen 
to doppa i grytan, dip in the kettle. 

On the stove stood a huge, burnished, 
copper kettle. In it had been boiling ever 
since early morning the entire head of a 
great pig, several sets of pigs’ feet, beef 
tongues, various meat sausages, a whole 
ham, some salted beef, and pork. All 
these viands had been removed to several 
platters and stood steaming on the kitchen 
table ready to be carried into the dining¬ 
room where the Christmas table was 


A SWEDISH CHRISTMAS 


53 


spread and would remain so until after 
December twenty-sixth. 

On the white, scrubbed kitchen table 
stood serving plates, knives and forks, and 
some sliced limpa. Each participant in 
the doppa ceremony stuck his fork firmly 
into a slice of the limpa, then immersed it 
in the rich broth of the kettle until it was 
well soaked. It was then deftly flicked 
on the serving plate. Then one went into 
the dining-room where Father was busy 
slicing meat, ham, or tongue, distributing 
pigs’ feet, or anything else desired from 
the Christmas kettle. There was also the 
huge, plump cheese to be cut and sampled; 
it was Father’s task to cut into it and to 
eat the first slice, pronouncing it good. 

Usually some friends came in for this 
meal to try the Jul-ale, wish the family 
“ Good Jul'* and make plans for some 
sleighing party or other entertainment in 
which we could all take part. 

In my home there was not the feeling 
of feverish hurry at Christmas, for all 


54 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


things that could be done had been already 
attended to during the past few days. So 
a real holiday atmosphere was produced. 
All food had to be prepared on December 
twenty-fourth; for on the great day it¬ 
self nobody was supposed to cook any¬ 
thing, except making the inevitable coffee. 
The same custom was followed on Good 
Friday, which was the most solemnly ob¬ 
served day of the year. 

After we had literally stuffed ourselves 
with the many good things on the table, 
we returned to our various tasks. How 
we enjoyed sealing up the gifts! Even 
after thirty years of absence from Sweden, 
the odor of sealing-wax brings back the 
most vivid memories of the Christmas joys 
of my childhood. Of course we had no 
gay tinselled cords or holly ribbons or 
pretty embossed Christmas seals in those 
days; we used red twine, red sealing-wax, 
and white paper for our packages. 

But no package—no matter how hum¬ 
ble—was complete unless it had a jolly 



A SWEDISH CHRISTMAS 


55 


jingle written on it. These little verses 
were supposed to be read aloud by the 
Jul-gubbe when the gifts were distrib¬ 
uted, a person with a gift for rhyming be¬ 
ing thereby given opportunity to express 
himself. Incidentally, the Swedish lan¬ 
guage is well adapted to poetry and song, 
for it is as liquid, musical, and sonorous 
as the Italian language. 

The dinner on Christmas Eve is a 
stately meal. The table is a veritable 
“ groaning board.” Delicacies such as 
cluster raisins, Messina oranges, hothouse 
grapes, and imported nuts are set out. 
The wax candles, in many-branched can- 
delabras with their crystal prisms, light 
the table, while overhead the chandeliers 
help to illuminate the room. 

The odor from the steaming lut-fish 
greets the nostrils. Tender, transparent, 
white, in a great quivering mound, this 
food is brought in on a blue-and-white 
platter, with the rich cream sauce in the 
gravy dish. After the fish course the main 


56 WHEN 1 WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 

dish, Jul-grot , is served. This dish is a 
rich, boiled rice-pudding, flavored with 
stick cinnamon and decorated with ground 
cinnamon and powdered sugar. In the 
center is a little lake of melted butter, and 
around the edge a deep ditch filled with 
honey. In the Jul-grot, which is served 
with milk, a lucky almond is always 
buried. 

But it is an immemorial custom that 
each person who is to partake of this spe¬ 
cial food must first Rimma for Groten, 
that is, he must make up a nonsense 
rhyme—^usually something complimen¬ 
tary to the hostess or the cook, or one’s 
table neighbor. 

In my home Father always began. 
Each one in turn was expected to follow, 
the best he could. The stupid ones had a 
bad time of it; they stammered and turned 
red with the effort. 

One story is related about a Christmas 
Eve dinner at the Royal Castle in Stock¬ 
holm. The turn had come to Bellman, the 


A SWEDISH CHRISTMAS 


57 


court poet, to make up a grot-rhyme . He 
had been placed between the Countess 
Griis of Bollnas and her stupid, boorish 
son. Both were heartily disliked by the 
poet. 

“ Now, Bellman,” the king prompted, 
“ it is your turn; do your prettiest.” 

The poet raised his wine-glass, bowed 
to his two table neighbors, and rhymed: 

“ From the Rhinelands we get wine 
And from Bollnas we get swine.” 

All but the countess and her son 
laughed. But the king protested that the 
rhyme was too personal. 

“ Bellman, we must have something 
dealing with a royal subject,” he said. 

Once more the poet tried, and this time 
he again raised his glass to the Countess 
Griis and her son. (I forgot to state that 
Griis, or gris, in Swedish, means pig, hog, 
swine, of either gender.) This was his 
second rhyme: 


58 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


u Solomon was Absalom’s brother 
And the sow is the hog’s mother.” 

“ Bellman, you are hopeless! I must 
send you into exile,” laughed the king, 
pleased with his favorite entertainer, while 
the countess and her dull son tried hard 
to seem at ease. 

Our own dinner is finished with “ torta,” 
nuts and fruit. Before the Jul-grot is re¬ 
moved from the table, a generous portion 
is put into a dish with an extra lump of 
butter in the center. This is for the 
“ Tomte-gubbe,” or the “ Good Luck 
Brownie,” who is said to live in the attic 
of every well-ordered house in Sweden. 
The delicacy is placed in the attic stair¬ 
way, and at midnight the “ Tomte-gubbe ” 
comes to have his feast. On Christmas 
morning, Lotta always showed me the 
empty dish. But the “ lucky almond ” in 
the Jul-grot! Oh, with what eagerness we 
all looked for it in our individual dishes! 
The one who found it would be especially 
fortunate during the coming year. 


A SWEDISH CHRISTMAS 


59 


After the dinner, we all joined hands 
and marched about the Christmas tree 
singing old folk-songs and ballads. Usu¬ 
ally Father excused himself, saying that 
he had some important business to attend 
to. As we were romping and singing, 
there came a fearful pull on our door-bell. 
We all stood still, waiting. 

Mother bravely went to the door. 
When she opened it and looked outside, 
there stood the Jul-gubbe as real as real 
could be. He entered the vestibule and 
stamped into the living-room. He slapped 
his arms; he puffed and he panted as if 
he had been running. He wore a mask 
showing only a pair of keen grey-blue eyes 
through holes cut for the purpose of see¬ 
ing. But it was a pleasant ruddy mask, 
with long, curly whiskers of grey. 

We children stood at a little distance, 
hardly daring to breathe, for usually the 
“ Jul-gubbe ” carried a great sack when 
he came to our house. In fear we won¬ 
dered what had happened. Still, Mother 


60 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


did not seem upset about this unusual oc¬ 
currence. Instead, she offered him a glass 
of the Jul-ale which he sipped slowly; 
and then, very deliberately, wiped his 
beard with the back of his gloved hand. 
He rose as if to go, for he bowed to 
Mother and was already at the door, when 
sister Margareta set up a lusty howl: 
“Mother, don’t let him go! He always 
brought us presents other years.” 

Upon hearing this distressful plea, the 
Jul-gubbe gave a happy chuckle, and went 
out to the vestibule, where, to be sure, we 
all saw the huge sack filled to the bursting 
point with packages. 

Strangely enough, we all received the 
very things we had wished for. It was a 
pity Father could not be there to hear the 
clever verses on his own gifts. But he 
was much pleased when, a while later, he 
returned and found his pile of gifts wait¬ 
ing for him. At Christmas Father was a 
different person, it seemed. He was gen¬ 
tle, and even I dared to offer to do little 


A SWEDISH CHRISTMAS 


61 


things for him—warm his slippers and 
fill his great meerschaum pipe, and even 
strike the match and light it for him. 

Then our day before Christmas ended 
with Mother gathering us before the liv¬ 
ing-room fire and reading to us from the 
great Dore illustrated Bible the story 
about the birth of Jesus. We were sent 
to bed early this evening, for in the morn¬ 
ing we all attended the Jul-otta or early 
Christmas Mass in the church ten miles 
out in the country. Father and Mother 
had been married in this church; so per¬ 
haps it was for the sake of happy mem¬ 
ories that they went there on Christmas 
morning to the early mass. 

In Sweden we have the pretty custom 
of setting lighted wax-tapers in. the win¬ 
dows to burn all Christmas night. The 
fires are also replenished late that night, 
so the whole house is warm and cozy as 
we rise at three o’clock to be ready when 
the big sleigh, drawn by two splendid 
horses, comes along to pick us up. Count- 



62 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


ing the driver, we are eight people, all 
packed down warm and snug in sheep¬ 
skin robes, until only our eyes and noses 
are visible. Then, with the music of the 
two dozen little bronze bells on the har¬ 
nesses, we set off at a lively pace. 

I wonder if any outdoor pleasure can 
compare with a drive through a snowed- 
under spruce forest on a cold frosty night! 
The poetry of countless stars shining in 
the blue-black sky; a waning moon hang¬ 
ing among the tree-tops; our sleigh lan¬ 
terns casting weird shadows along the 
blue-white road. 

After an hour or so of swift travel, we 
see the church, all lit up, leap into view. 
The church hill is dotted with unharnessed 
sleighs of every description, the horses be¬ 
ing kept in the parish stables. Pedestrians 
in gay groups arrive, each group led by a 
lantern-bearer. And then three great bells 
ring for the third time— samman —like 
friendly arms of sounds reaching out and 
drawing us all into the church. All the 



A SWEDISH CHRISTMAS 


63 


pews are filled. Numberless tapers shine 
on ruddy peasant faces. Herr Jungstrom, 
the organist and cantor, sits on his bench 
in the organ loft, and soon the pipe-organ 
peals forth the mighty Lutheran Psalm- 
melody, while the congregation sings 
heartily, " War halsad skona morgon 
stund ”—We hail thee, wondrous morn¬ 
ing hour! 

It seems to me that the very walls trem¬ 
ble and the roof of the church is about to 
take flight. Such singing is seldom heard. 
The Swedish people lorve to sing and ex¬ 
press their joys and their longings in 
song. Then comes the stately Lutheran 
Mass with the priest or Kyrkoherde and 
his assistant, both arrayed in rich vest¬ 
ments. During the long sermon, there is, 
of course, many a nodding head. I never 
dared to sleep in church although it was 
ever a great strain to keep awake. Finally 
the droning voice of the priest says 
“ Amen ” and the recessional psalm is 
taken up. 


64 WHEN I WAS A OIRL IN SWEDEN 


After the service, one visits and meets 

% 

friends in the parish house. Hot coffee 
and doppa are served. At last, in the 
grey-blue dawn, we are once more packed 
down into our sleigh, and the wild, swift 
ride home begins. Everybody tries to 
reach his own village before everybody 
else. It is no uncommon sight to find 
sleighs overturned by the roadside, their 
occupants half-buried under their fur 
robes and the deep drifts. All because of 
a superstition that the one to arrive home 
first will have the best and largest crop 
the coming year! 

All of us remained quietly at home on 
Christmas Day. We children played with 
our new toys and read to each other out 
of our new story-books. 

Next day the Christmas festivities be¬ 
gan. In my country, there was senseless 
over-eating of rich food during this sea¬ 
son, and among the men, much drinking. 
So, when finally the holidays were over— 
well past the middle of January—the peo- 


A SWEDISH CHRISTMAS 


65 


pie were half-sick and sluggish from the 
after-effects of too much food and drink. 

There was a pagan flavor to many of 
the queer customs and legends connected 
with this season. In my home, at the 
party on December twenty-sixth, we usu¬ 
ally had a pig roasted whole. It was a 
mouth-watering sight to see nasse roasted 
to a golden brown, and kneeling on a huge 
platter with an apple in his mouth, and a 
crimpy paper frill decorating his curled- 
up tail, to be carved by Father. 

This roasted pig was a purely heathen 
symbol. In Wallhalla, the home of our 
old gods and dead heroes, a huge roasted 
boar was served and eaten each night, and 
behold, the next morning the boar was 
whole again. A symbol of Nature’s ever- 
renewing powers! 

Then there was the Jul-brasa or fire, to 
be kept lighted until the end of Saint 
Stephen’s Day. This symbolized the re¬ 
turn of the sun. 

We also had a very pretty legend, 


66 WHEN 1 WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


possibly of Christian origin—that on 
Christmas night, the animals were given 
the power of speech for one hour. When 
Aunt Inga told me this, I immediately 
wanted to hear the animals talk, and so 
to give this fable credence, my aunt 
adroitly related a story of a servant girl 
who had also wanted to make sure that 
this really took place on Holy Night. So 
she hid herself in the cow-stable on Christ¬ 
mas Eve to witness the miracle, but alas, 
the next morning she discovered that she 
had lost her power of speech. It may be, 
said Aunt Inga, this had happened so that 
she could not tell human beings what the 
animals had been talking about. 



The Royal Castle. 

Of dignified and simple architecture, located in the oldest and most central part of Stockholm. 










































CHAPTER V 


HOW A TAME BEAR BROUGHT ME DISGRACE 

Since Father’s shoe and leather busi¬ 
ness began to go well, we lived in a nice, 
modern house facing the Old Square in 
the city of Oscarshamn, in the eastern part 
of the province of Smaland. These were 
happy, interesting days, packed with study 
and work, and with play hours when my 
tasks were completed. 

But both my parents demanded abso¬ 
lute obedience from us children. If we 
deserved punishment, there was no escape. 
If I had been less impulsive and had 
thought before I acted, I know now, look¬ 
ing back on my childhood, that I should 
have been able to avoid many painful ex¬ 
periences. Father and Mother, like other 
good parents, wanted us to grow up to be 
useful, law-abiding members of the com¬ 
munity. And they knew that if children 

67 


68 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


are not taught in the home respect for 
authority, they will be obliged later in life 
to learn that valuable lesson or suffer the 
consequences. 

In my memory, one occurrence stands 
out especially vivid, and my punishment 
was well deserved: 

An Italian with a hand-organ and a 
tame bear had come to town. The man 
turned the crank of the organ, and the 
bear danced with a stout pole clasped in 
his front paws. He was a most delightful 
creature as he stepped to the music on his 
clumsy hind legs. Only a slender brass 
chain, fastened to his nose-ring, held him 
captive. His obedience to the slightest 
pull of the chain held us all spellbound. 
A huge crowd had gathered in the Old 
Square, and I was among that crowd, a 
fascinated girl of ten. 

Father had seen me from his store win¬ 
dow, and Sven, the errand boy, was sent 
to command me to come home. I was 
forbidden to go out in the square while 


A TAME BEAR BRINGS DISGRACE 69 

the bear and his master were there. Of 
course, I had no intention of being dis¬ 
obedient, so I tried to make the best of 
things as they were. 

Fortunately, Mother sent me to the 
drug-store to buy some worm-seed for my 
sister Constance. I was given a fifty-ore 
silver coin to pay for the stuff. Sven had 
told me a minute before that the Italian 
and the bear had gone over to the New 
Square. And I must cross that square 
to reach the drug-store. 

Right in front of Hotel Rung Oscar I 
saw the bear and the Italian once more. 
It was the most natural thing in the world 
for me to stop and look on. Father’s for¬ 
bidding me to go out in the Old Square 
had nothing to do with my stopping a 
minute while doing an errand for Mother, 
so I felt no uneasiness. 

The bear did his most cunning tricks, 
and the most alluring melody from Tra- 
viata was played. How I did love that 
clever bear! At last the Italian went 


70 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


around among the crowd with his hat. 
Copper coins from all directions soon 
covered the bottom of his battered old felt 
hat. I had no copper coin to give him. 
Almost against my own volition but with 
a grand gesture, I dropped that half- 
crown piece into the hat. The man gave 
me a flashing smile and bowed low before 
me. His bowing flattered me. He and 
the bear moved on, followed by the crowd. 

Overhead the thunder rumbled. The 
day was sultry, and the sun shone fitfully, 
but no one seemed to pay any attention 
to the weather. We were all too busy 
watching the bear. The minuet from 
Don Juan was now ground out, and the 
beast danced to its slow, stately rhythm. 

To this day I can understand how hu¬ 
man beings can forget home, honor, and 
solemnly given promises because of music, 
movement, and homage, for the glowing 
dark eyes of the Italian often rested on 
me. It may be that he hoped I would 
drop another fifty-ore into his hat. 


A TAME BEAR BRINGS DISGRACE 71 


Lotta was finally sent to find me, and 
I was brought home in disgrace. To fib 
would do no good, so I confessed. This 
time Father himself took me in hand. 
... I was locked up in the dark, stuffy 
broom-closet under the garret stairs. And 
here in the dark among the cleaning para¬ 
phernalia, I had ample time to think over 
my bad behavior. I had been in this pre¬ 
dicament before, and knew that it would 
be useless to pound on the door, for 
neither Lotta nor Mother herself would 
think of letting me out until Father gave 
them permission to do so. Of course, I 
would be released in an hour or two. Time 
dragged fearfully in my dark and tiny 
prison which was getting as hot as an 
oven. I felt thirsty and hungry, too. If 
it hadn’t been for the increasing thunder, 
I might have gone to sleep. 

Now and then flashes of lightning would 
show between the door cracks. One ter¬ 
rific thunder crash seemed to shake the 
whole town, and I knew that the lightning 


72 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


had struck near by. Fear made me trem¬ 
ble and perspire. Suppose it was our 
house or some other house in the square? 
The fire would soon reach me, and I 
should be burned to death. 

Frantically I hammered on the door 
and begged to be let out, but not a sound 
came. Our house seemed deserted. Then, 
faintly I heard voices reaching me, and 
sounds of running steps in the square. 
Louder, and closer came the voices: 

“ The lumber-yard is on fire! The saw¬ 
mill was struck by lightning! ” 

Now I understand why our house was 
so quiet. Father and his business part¬ 
ner had a tannery just across the river, 
almost facing the lumber-yard. My par¬ 
ent, and everybody else, had rushed off to 
see the fire. I was forgotten—left behind. 
Or else Father had decided to add to my 
punishment by keeping me away from the 
fire. I had never seen a really big one. It 
must be a splendid sight to see a whole 
lumber-yard burning! 


A TAME BEAR BRINGS DISGRACE 73 

Finally when Lotta came to let me out, 
I had a horrible sense of loss. I had been 
prevented from seeing a rare sight. A 
foolish and childish resentment against 
my father caused me to avoid his presence 
as much as possible, and I bribed my sis¬ 
ter Constance to do any errand that would 
usually be my task and which would take 
me to Father’s store. 

Then, a week later, word came that I 
was invited to spend the rest of the 
summer at Uncle Petter’s farm at Ron- 
nevik. He would come the following day 
to fetch me. Again I was happy, for I 
should have my Cousin Herrman to play 
with, and thousands of interesting things 
to see and do: and, best of all, I would not 
be shut up in a hot, stuffy closet. Of 
course, I would be a well-behaved girl 
and a credit to Father and Mother. 

Uncle Petter came the following day. 
My clothes and a few of my books were 
packed and ready. Mother had suggested 
that I keep up my studies during the 


74 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


summer, for there would be some rainy 
days during which Herrman and I could 
study together. 

Finally we were ready. I went to the 
store to bid Father good-bye. And, mar¬ 
velous to relate, when I shook hands with 
him, he slipped a two-crown silver piece 
into my pahn. Tears blurred my eyes as 
I looked up at him. How I longed to 
fling myself into his arms and kiss him, 
but there stood the errand boy grinning 
at me. My courage failed. Still, I re¬ 
membered Father’s smile, and I felt cer¬ 
tain that he loved me. 


CHAPTER VI 

ON UNCLE PETTER’s FARM 

Uncle Petter was a member of the 
Swedish Riksdag —that is, he held a posi¬ 
tion similar to that of a United States 
Congressman. He represented his dis¬ 
trict in the Second Chamber of the 
Swedish parliament. He and my father 
for some obscure reason did not like each 
other, but Mother dearly loved her cousin 
and his family. 

Uncle came in his homespun vadmal 
clothes; a typical Swedish farmer, as far 
as appearance went, but a man of culture 
and a true gentleman. His hobby was 
the breeding of race-horses; beautiful, 
wing-footed animals that won prizes at the 
Royal Derby. He also specialized in the 
raising of fancy stock: his pigs and sheep 
and cattle always carried off the highest 

prizes at our county fairs. He had great 

' 75 


76 WHEN 1 WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


faith in Nature, and felt it a privilege to 
be allowed to help her perfect some of the 
creatures she had evolved. 

In driving out to Ronnevik, Uncle Pet- 
ter and I talked about many things. He 
had often visited, while in Stockholm, an¬ 
other relative of Mother’s, a man who was 
court physician to the Queen. I had 
never seen Cousin Carl, although Mother 
often spoke of him and how he, on his rare 
visits to Mortfors, his home, used to be 
kept busy attending to all the ailing peo¬ 
ple of the parish—they all regarded him 
as a kind of wonder doctor, partly because 
it was for him all “ a labor of love ”; he re¬ 
fused to take money for his service. 

I wish my American boy and girl 
friends could see my uncle’s farm, some 
distance from the State Highway, as I 
saw it this summer afternoon bathed in a 
golden haze! Neat rail-fences enclosed 
each field; sleek cattle grazed on the hill¬ 
sides and in the pastures. From the 
meadows, loaded hay-carts drawn by ox- 



ON UNCLE PE TIER’S FARM 77 

teams wended their slow way to the farm 
where the hay was to be put into sheds. 

The farmhouse was a large, two-story, 
gabled structure built of timber. It was 
stained a rich dark-red, with white trim¬ 
mings, cornices, and window frames. An 
avenue of great chestnut trees led up to 
the front yard, which was enclosed by a 
red-and-white picket fence and a hedge 
of lilac bushes. There was a veranda with 
slender white pillars supporting climbing 
vines. 

Otto, the stable boy, opened the gate 
for us and led the horses away to be un¬ 
harnessed. Aunt Inga and Cousin Herr- 
man stood on the veranda ready to wel¬ 
come me. How tall my cousin had grown! 
He was the image of his mother: fair¬ 
haired, blue-eyed, ruddy of face, and 
splendidly strong. He was a year and a 
half older than I, so it was natural for 
me to look up to him as a leader. 

After Aunt Inga had given me a real 
bear-hug and kissed me, it was Herrman’s 


78 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


turn. His eyes danced with joy, and he 
almost crushed some of my ribs when he 
flung his arms around me. I returned his 
kiss with all my heart. Secretly I looked 
upon him as my own brother, for once, 
when I was recovering from a severe case 
of fever, Mother had told me confiden¬ 
tially that she felt sure Herrman was 
none other than my little brother Emil, 
who had died shortly before Herrman 
was born. It is hard to tell where Mother 
had come upon the idea of reincarnation. 
Still, I felt closer to my cousin than I did 
to my own two sisters. 

After I had washed myself and changed 
my frock, I was taken to the kitchen to 
meet the two maids who helped Aunt Inga 
with the housework. Selma was the 
daughter of one of the “ crofters,” and 
Manda was a poorhouse orphan whom my 
aunt had long ago taken charge of. 
Manda adored her benefactress; this was 
plain even to me. 

Both girls accepted me as a member of 


ON UNCLE PETTER’S FARM 79 


the household, and I was soon busy help¬ 
ing with the preparation of the evening 
meal. Never shall I forget how delicious 
the fresh-baked bread, the newly-churned 
butter, the smoked ham, and the creamed 
spinach tasted! Then, to finish the meal, 
we had wild strawberries with cream thick 
and deep-yellow, like old ivory; there were 
tumblers of wonderful buttermilk, also 
bowls of filebunke , clabbered milk, which 
was eaten with a sprinkling of ground 
ginger and sugar. 

After supper Herrman took me out to 
the milking lane to see the cows being 
milked. Those gentle cows! How I 
loved them all! Each one had such a 
pretty name: Gullstjarna, Snb-ros, Smor - 
blomma, etc., meaning, Gold-star, Snow- 
rose, and Buttercup, respectively. No 
wonder those cows gave abundant, rich 
milk! They were better-treated than 
thousands of working people the world 
over. The dairy-maids, Britta and Lena, 
truly loved all those twenty-six cows, 


80 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


judging from the manner in which the 
cows minded these two sturdy girls who 
would sing and talk to the animals while 
milking. 

To me, milking seemed easy work; and, 
unwisely, I told Britta so. She laughed 
good-naturedly and invited me to try it. 
Pleased, I sat down on the three-legged 
stool and took the empty wooden stava 
between my knees, grasped two of the 
four teats on the udder of Sno-ros, and 
began to pull downward, also to give a 
gentle pressure so as to squeeze out the 
milk. But not a single drop came. I 
pulled harder, and my wrists and fingers 
began to feel tired. Then, the cow sud¬ 
denly flicked her tail impolitely across my 
face and walked off. The two girls did 
not laugh at me; for this I was grateful. 
Lena merely tactfully hinted that milking 
was not the work for city froknar with 
soft, white, little hands and slim wrists. 

Six years later, when I arrived in 
America and found that men did the milk- 


ON UNCLE PETTER’S FARM 8l 


ing, I felt very indignant, for a cow is 
such a gentle, feminine creature, and to 
me it did not seem quite proper that men 
should do that work. 

Herrman next showed me a number of 
oxen grazing in a near-by pasture and 
resting after their day of hard work. 
They, too, looked content and docile. I 
was also taken to the enclosure where 
Nero, the bull, was kept in “ solitary con¬ 
finement.” He was a dark-brown, stately, 
magnificent creature of some famous Eng¬ 
lish breed. Because of an ugly temper, 
he was not allowed to be with the cows or 
oxen in the pastures, but was instead kept 
in a special enclosure which had a strong 
fence around it. This animal, when irri¬ 
tated, had been known to take a length 
of ordinary rail-fence on his splendid 
horns and break into the clover meadows. 

Nero was Uncle Fetter’s special pet. 
It was a thrilling sight to see Uncle enter 
the enclosure and fearlessly go up to the 
bull, petting him and talking to him. In 


82 WHEN 1 WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


the parish it was common talk how Rik- 
dagsman Haggvall had such a strange 
power over all his animals. I asked him 
how he did it. He replied with a smile: 

“ Anna-Mia, love will do wonders in 
dealing with both men and beasts.” 

The following morning I was shown 
the rest of the farm inmates—funny, long- 
legged colts which followed their pretty 
mothers about the pastures and trotted at 
their side when these mothers were taken 
out driving, lambs with their innocent lit¬ 
tle faces so adorable, and several calves in 
a special pasture. I loved the little ducks 
and chicks and the stately cock, that was 
so gallant and so brave when the swoop¬ 
ing hawk hung over the barnyard. 

Herrman finally showed me his own 
pet, a plump, white, half-grown pig. A 
near-tragedy had, as it were, thrown Nasse 
on my cousin’s mercy. The sow that was 
Nasse’s mother, could nurse only ten at a 
time, while she had been blessed with a 
litter of eleven little ones. So, poor Num- 


ON UNCLE PET TER f S FARM 


83 


ber Eleven had nearly starved until Uncle 
Petter told his son that this left-over little 
pig would be his if Herrman could man¬ 
age to raise it by hand. My cousin con¬ 
sulted with his mother, and Otto was sent 
down to the village to buy a rubber nip¬ 
ple; this and a bottle of milk slightly 
warmed solved the problem. Nasse drank 
his fill, gave a grunt of satisfaction, and 
fell asleep. And, whenever he woke up 
and squealed, he was given the bottle. 

The little pig grew faster than his ten 
brothers and sisters that were nursed by 
their mother. He became deeply attached 
to Herrman, whom he always spied far 
off and would run to meet with grunts 
of pleasure. Lena and Britta, the two 
dairy-maids, always saw to it that Nasse 
was well fed and kept clean. He was a 
pig of excellent breed, and in a year he 
would be full grown and fetch a good sum 
at the county fair. I felt especially flat¬ 
tered when Nasse ate the sugar cookie 
Manda had slipped into my pocket after 


84 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


I had helped her wipe the breakfast 
dishes. 

I have already mentioned the lambs; 
dear, foolish, meek little things, so help¬ 
less and appealing, as they trotted be¬ 
hind their mothers, flicking their funny 
little tails, and nursing while their mamas 
grazed on the hillsides. But the father 
of all these cunning little creatures was 
Thor , Uncle Petter’s prize ram, an im¬ 
port from Scotland and quite a valuable 
and marvelous beast, with his proudly 
carried head crowned with a pair of grace¬ 
fully curved, twisted horns. Thor, like 
Nero , was mean-tempered, and therefore 
he, too, had to be kept by himself. 

My ignorance of the dangers of life on 
a farm nearly cost me my life. One fore¬ 
noon, soon after my arrival at Ronnevik, 
I set out alone to pick strawberries on a 
hillside which Britta had pointed out as 
we drove the cows to the milking lane the 
night before. I had full confidence in my 
ability to take care of myself. I knew 


ON UNCLE PETTER’S FARM 


85 


Nero was in his accustomed enclosure; 
and he was the only one of the farm ani¬ 
mals I had any respect for. I had not yet 
met Thor . The strawberries were luscious 
and grew in large, ruddy patches all about 
me. 

Herrman had promised to join me after 
he had taken the outgoing mail down to 
the village. Happy and busy, I was pick¬ 
ing away, eating as many berries as I put 
into the pail, which was a four -liter one. 
I had saved the thickest patches for Herr¬ 
man. Swedish wild strawberries are no 
larger than medium-size cranberries, so it 
takes some time to fill a four-liter pail. 
But I hummed a ballad, utterly at peace 
with the world. 

While I was stooping over and picking 
away, I had all of a sudden a sensation as 
if every vertebrae in my spine had been 
swiftly stacked up like 'prijfe chips, then 
I fell on my face. After a few minutes 
of dazed wonder, I scrambled to my feet 
to see what had hit me. 


86 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


“ Anna-Mia, look out for Thor! ” Herr- 
man’s distressed voice came. I saw my 
cousin coming on a run towards me. A 
dark, swift-moving mass struck him down, 
and he fell a few meters from where I 
stood. I staggered over to where he had 
fallen on his side. He lay very still. Just 
as I drew a scared breath, intending to 
call for help, “Wump!!!!” this time 
Thor’s broad forehead and my diaphragm 
were brought in contact for a painful sec¬ 
ond—that is, painful to me. Down I 
went a second time. Now I had enough 
for one day, and I, too, lay still, for to 
tell the truth I had the wind knocked out 
of me. 

Some time later I woke up and found 
myself in Aunt Inga’s own bed, between 
cool, fresh linen sheets that smelled of 
lavender, and I learned that our doctor 
from town was on his way out to see Herr- 
man and me. Otto had jumped on Sleip- 
ner, the fastest of Uncle’s horses, to bring 
help. My first question was about Herr- 


ON UNCLE PETTER’S FARM 87 

man. Had Thor killed him? My aunt 
assured me that Herrman was alive, but 
somewhat shaken up by being knocked 
down by the ram. 

After a little while the doctor came. 
Father was with him. He looked quite 
upset and followed every move of the doc¬ 
tor as the latter did various and painful 
things to my body. I was more eager to 
have the doctor attend my cousin, for he 
had looked so queer, lying there in the sun 
limp and pale. 

After Doctor Holmgren had examined 
Herrman, I was told that both of us must 
remain quiet for a week or so. I did not 
mind this so much; I was selfishly glad 
that my cousin, too, had to stay in bed as 
long as I. 

Father’s coming did me more good than 
the doctor’s care and medicine. Perhaps, 
after all, I was not the “ black sheep ” in 
our family. He came over to the bed and 
bent down and stroked my forehead for 
a moment. How I longed to have him 


88 WEEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 

lift me in his arms and hold me close! 
Still, the fact that he had taken the trou¬ 
ble to come out to see me was too won¬ 
derful for words. 

Inside of a week Herrman and I were 
up and about. The fame of Thor's wick¬ 
edness had grown, and that year he took 
first prize at the Fall Fair, which was 
also the agricultural exhibition. Uncle 
Petter was so pleased over this that he 
gave Herrman and me each a ten-crown 
piece, For sveda och vdrk —compensation 
for suffering endured! 

During my week in bed I kept wonder¬ 
ing why Father had come out to see me, 
and not Mother. Later I learned from 
Aunt Inga that a little baby was expected 
to arrive before I returned to the city. 

Ah, those happy weeks at Ronnevik! 
Deep down in my heart was the knowl¬ 
edge that after all, in spite of numberless 
spankings, my Father still cared for me. 
Curiously enough, I hardly gave a thought 
to the little baby that my parents ex- 



ON UNCLE PETTER’S FARM 89 


pected. Perhaps I wanted to see the 
baby first, before it could become a real¬ 
ity. 

Life on a farm proved most fascinating 
to me. Each day was packed with fresh 
experiences. I saw enormous cheeses 
made, drank the delicious whey, and ate 
the curd. I helped to churn butter, and 
tasted real buttermilk with a tangy, sour- 
cream flavor that makes this beverage so 
distinctive and wholesome. We picked 
bushels of luscious, dark-red cherries and 
great red-and-yellow gooseberries, also 
purple and yellow plums, almost as large 
as hen’s eggs, and sweet as sugar. There 
were also early pears and Astrachan ap¬ 
ples to be gathered and sent to the city 
market. 

It was delightful to gather the freshly 
laid eggs. Aunt Inga had shown me the 
nests of all the “ laying ” hens, but one 
day I found a whole nestful of eggs un¬ 
der the planked floor of a shed. Eagerly 
I put them into my apron and ran in to 


90 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


show my find to my aunt. Fifteen eggs, 
all warm. To me it seemed as if a num¬ 
ber of the hens had formed a sort of “ lay- 
ing-club ” and met in secret so as to fool 
us all. I felt proud and important. 

But my pride and joy were short-lived. 
Auntie told me in her quiet, kindly way 
that all those eggs belonged to a “ sitting ” 
hen which insisted on having her nest in 
this out-of-the-way place. Hurriedly I 
was sent back to replace the eggs; it may 
be that the poor hen had not yet missed 
them. Some days later this same prudent 
bird came proudly forth with a brood of 
thirteen little chicks. So it seemed that 
no great harm had come from my zeal as 
an egg-gatherer. 

A Swedish farm is usually an orderly 
and homelike place. The barns, stables, 
granaries, and other outbuildings are, like 
the dwelling itself, stained a rich, dark- 
red, with trimmings of white; usually, the 
roofs are thatched with rye-straw. All 
these buildings are placed at some distance 


ON UNCLE PETTER’S FARM 


91 


from the farmhouse, and set about a square 
barnyard with hen-house, pig-pen, and ice¬ 
house at one end. There are generally a 
row of hay and straw stacks and piles of 
stable manure at one end. 

Close to the farmhouse is the smoke¬ 
house where meat, hams, and sausages are 
cured, and where the baking and laundry 
work is done. In this smoke-house the 
rich, dark ale is also brewed at Christmas. 
One section of this, the Brygg-stuga, is 
equipped with the hand-loom, warping 
reels, spinning-wheels, and the tools 
needed for manufacturing textiles for 
garments and household use. For, among 
the Santesons, my mother’s people, it was 
part of one’s education to know all the 
processes the wool and the flax must pass 
through before these products are con¬ 
verted by the hand-loom into linen sheets, 
dress goods for the women, or vadmal for 
the men. Even table damask and curtain 
scrim, coverlets, hangings, and rugs were 
woven on Swedish farms. 


92 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


Four years later, Aunt Inga herself 
taught me to card wool, spin both flax and 
woolen yarn, and help with the prepara¬ 
tion of the warp; as a final triumph, I 
was even permitted to sit down at the loom 
and try my hand at weaving. To be sure, 
it was only a length of sheeting I was per¬ 
mitted to practise on at first, but I gained 
respect for those who produced beautiful 
woven stuff by hand. The most fascinat¬ 
ing part of the making of woven stuff was 
the dyeing of the woolen yarn. 

My aunt scorned aniline dyes. She had 
a marvelous knowledge of vegetable dyes, 
and from bark, herbs, and berries con¬ 
trived the most charming and lasting—al¬ 
most fadeless—dves. To be sure, she 
bought certain chemicals which were used 
in conjunction with the vegetable dye¬ 
stuff of our fields and forests, but they 
were usually vegetable products such as 
“ gall-apples ” or Brazilian wood-chips, 
and a very powerful and costly red dye 
called conchinelle which was supposed to 




Examples of Swedish Handicraft. 
Woven textiles, embroideries, and basketry 















ON UNCLE FETTER 9 S FARM 


93 


come from an insect found in the tropics. 
The color obtained from this stuff was the 
most wonderful red—deep-glowing, vel¬ 
vet-soft and rich. 




CHAPTER VII 


MY FRIENDS AND PLAYMATES, ALSO A FEW 

TALES 

I had, when I returned from Uncle 
Petter’s farm, one more sister—the baby 
girl was three weeks old when I saw her 
the first time. Little Maria was more 
than ten years my junior, and I had all 
the “ big-sister ” affection for her. Mother 
allowed me to help take care of her, for 
we could afford only one servant. 

Constance and I were three years apart. 
As our birthdays came on the seventh and 
the eighth of March, we were given a 
joint birthday party each year—that is, 
we had the party on Constance’s birthday 
one year and on mine the following year. 
My sister’s friends brought gifts to her, 
and my friends remembered me with 
presents, but the two groups were enter¬ 
tained together. A supper was served. 

94 


MY FRIENDS AND PLAYMATES 95 


Then came guessing-games, “ dress-up- 
charades,” and conundrums. There was, 
of course, also singing and recitations by 
those who were clever and trained in these 
arts. 

Dancing and kissing games were not 
even thought of. Not that my parents 
were prudish, but I was taught to regard 
kissing and other forms of intimacy be¬ 
tween boys and girls as improper; that 
no nice girl would allow a boy to put his 
arms around her. Mother had assured me 
that no young man had been permitted to 
kiss her when she was a girl. Father was 
the only man she had ever kissed, and that 
only after they were formally engaged. 

Nevertheless when I was old enough, I 
was allowed to have boy friends come to 
see me, to take me out sailing in summer; 
and, during the winter, they would come 
with their skates, and we would race over 
the ice or sail the ice-boats on the Kalmar 
Sound. These boys were the sons of my 
parents’ friends; lads of good family and 


96 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


carefully reared. Ideals of chivalry and 
honor had been instilled into their souls 
from their earliest years. 

It may be that I was more fortunate 
than many other girls in numbering 
among my young Swedish friends boys 
who were fun-loving rather than senti¬ 
mental. Each Sunday after church in 
summer we youngsters made our plans 
for the “ hikes ” and sailing parties to dis¬ 
tant islands and other points of interest. 
Naturally, such excursions were always 
chaperoned by some responsible adult who 
was youthful enough to enter into our fun. 

One such an all-day excursion was 

planned to a low mountain plateau close 

to the shore of the Baltic. From the 

highest point of the plateau, if the weather 

was clear, one could see the island of 
• • 

Oland, with wide stretches of the sea and 
the green coastland. 

We had all breakfasted heartily and 
our midday meal was to be eaten after we 
had reached our destination. Our maid, 


MY FRIENDS AND PLAYMATES 97 

Lotta, had charge of us to-day, children 
ranging in age between eight and twelve 
years. At that time I was eleven; one of 
the boys, Carl-Anton, was twelve; Con¬ 
stance, too, was with us, for Mother had 
let her come when Lotta, who was already 
twenty-five years old, promised to take 
special care of my sister. 

We were a happy group of children— 
fifteen healthy, boisterous youngsters— 
and we sang as we marched along the 
highway, swinging our food baskets. 
School was over for the summer, and win¬ 
ter seemed far off. 

After an hour’s steady walking, some of 
the younger members of our party began 
to clamor for a resting-spell, so when a 
cool, shady knoll was found, we climbed 
the rail-fence and Lotta produced her 
crochet work. We all became less talka¬ 
tive as Maja Elmdal, a newcomer to Os- 
carshamn, promised to tell us about 
Blenda of V dr end, the brave peasant 
woman whose clever ruse had saved some 


98 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


of Maja’s ancestors from death at the 
hands of the Danish soldiers; for at that 
long-ago time Denmark and Sweden were 
not the good friends they are to-day, but 
were often at war with each other. 

One day news came to Varend that the 
Danish soldiers were on their way to kill, 
plunder, and burn in the larger and most 
prosperous villages of the countryside. 
At this time all the able-bodied men had 
been drafted into the army, and only a few 
tottering old men, some little boys and, 
of course, the women, were left to defend 
Varend. Terror gripped the hearts of 
many, but with wisdom and initiative, 
Blenda, one of the sturdy peasant women, 
had soon organized an army of defense. 
She gathered about her all those who had 
strong legs and lusty lungs, old and young 
alike. But each member of her strangely 
assorted “ army ” was bidden to carry 
some noise-producing device. Then a 
dozen or so of the small boys were sent 
ahead to stir up a thick cloud of dust with 


MY FRIENDS AND PLAYMATES 99 


tree-branches which they shoved before 
themselves on the dusty highway. Close 
behind the little boys came the villagers, 
led by Blenda. 

Such shouting and such a fearful din 
had never been heard in Varend. Iron 
and copper kettles and lids were beaten, 
empty wooden stavas were used as drums, 
skarror, similar to the “ bull-roarers ” used 
by some savage tribes at religious cere¬ 
monies, produced a terrible racket; then 
there were all those people shouting and 
singing battle-songs, adding to the dread¬ 
ful din of this onward-marching “ army of 
defenders.” 

The Danes spied the dust cloud far off. 
They heard the mighty volume of terrific 
noise, and were stricken with a great fear 
of this still unseen foe. As one man, they 
turned and fled; not one of them dared 
look behind. As they reached the Danish 
encampment, panting and trembling, they 
declared that a powerful army of Swedes 
was at their heels. The officer in charge 


> 

> 

» 



> > > 


100 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


of the encampment saw the wisdom of 
seeking safety for himself and his men, 
and so Varend was saved by Blenda and 
her willing helpers. 

This successful routing of the Danes by 
a few scores of women and children 
reached the ear of the Swedish king, and 
he gave orders that all the women in Va¬ 
rend should be allowed to wear a special 
type of dress to commemorate Blenda’s 
deed and the saving of their homes and 
lives from destruction by the Danes. To 
this day the colorful and distinctive dress 
of Varend is proudly worn on festive oc¬ 
casions by the women of this part of my 
province. For Varend is not so very far 
from the place of my birth. Maja Elm- 
dal’s mother owned one of those historical 
costumes, and Maja promised to let us all 
see it some time. Perhaps she could in¬ 
duce her mother to put it on some day for 
our pleasure. 

Another brave Smalanding of former 
times was a general in the army of Charles 


o (> 



The Varend Dress. 

The picturesque commemorative costume worn by 
the women of Varend Smaland. 












I 



























MY FRIENDS AND PLAYMATES 101 

XII, Magnus Stenbock. Carl-Anton 
told us how the general had gathered 
about him nearly all the peasant lads of 
Smaland and proceeded to make soldiers 
out of this raw material. There was not 
money enough to equip these lads with 
uniforms of any kind, so they wore gar¬ 
ments made of goatskin. The Danes 
laughed at Stenbock and his “ goat-boys.” 
But courageous hearts beat beneath those 
queer garments, for a leader’s example 
will always affect his followers. One of 
General Stenbock’s sayings was: “Look 
ferocious, and the Dane will run.” An¬ 
other time, he advised his “ goat-boys ” 
not to shoot until they were close enough 
to see the whites of the enemies’ eyes. 

Carl-Anton and I always quarreled be¬ 
cause he had a great love for warriors. 
I fear I was born a pacifist. Well I can 
recall tales told to us children when our 
mother’s ninety-eight-year-old great-aunt 
Tant Botilda, came to visit us—tales of 
horror—for she had lived in Schleswig- 


102 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


Holstein at a time when Germany and 
Denmark were at war with each other— 
tales so terrible that I could not sleep the 
night she told us of her experiences. 
Those stories made a powerful impression 
on my mind. But Tant Botilda could 
also recall the crowning of six Swedish 
kings. Her memory was very remark¬ 
able—in a sense she lived altogether in the 
past. Her own father had been a soldier 
and had taken part in the war between 
Norway and Sweden in 1814, but for¬ 
tunately that war was scarce begun be¬ 
fore it was over, and the result was a union 
between Norway and Sweden which lasted 
for nearly a hundred years. It was dur¬ 
ing the rule of the wise and gentle Oscar 
II that Norway regained its independ¬ 
ence. To be sure, both countries have al¬ 
ready profited by their separation. 

It is with a feeling of pride that I can 
call Sweden and Norway to-day better 
friends than they have ever been. And 
both countries have enjoyed peace during 


MY FRIENDS AND PLAYMATES 103 

one hundred and eleven years—a record 
to be proud of indeed. 

This day during our trip to the plateau, 
as we set off once more down the highway, 
we caught up with a farm lad jogging 
along in an empty hay-cart. 

“ Give us a ride, please,” we cried as he 
lumbered past in his great ox-drawn cart, 
and he stopped and let us scramble in. 
This was fun; we sang and hurrahed as 
we went on. But soon our joy was over, 
for he was turning his team into a lane to¬ 
wards the place where his meadow lay, so 
we had to pick up our baskets, spring out 
again, resuming our “ hike.” After half 
an hour’s walking, we came to the moun¬ 
tain plateau, and the climb to the top 
began. 

After we had reached the highest point, 
we could see far out over the Baltic, where 
the ships and steamers seemed to slip off 
the edge of the world. Then, when we 
turned our eyes inland, we saw endless 
stretches of fields and meadows with red- 


104 WEEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


stained farm-buildings, like toy houses, 
nestling among the greenness. 

While we were eating, Lotta related a 
tale about how her grandfather one night 
while tending a charcoal kiln in a wood 
that she pointed out to us was visited by 
the wood-nymph who came into his hut, 
wet and shivering with the cold. She was 
very beautiful and wore rich garments. 
The hem of her dress was soaked, and she 
stood before the fire warming herself. 
Then Lotta’s grandfather saw a fluffy, 
grey tail peep out from under her skirt- 
hem. Now the charcoal-burner under¬ 
stood that his visitor was the wood-nymph. 
He dared not turn her out, or in any man¬ 
ner offend her, but he feared her tail would 
catch fire, for sparks flew about as he laid 
a tar-dripping pine-root on the fire. So, 
politely he spoke to the creature: 

“ Madame, please look after your train; 
it may catch fire.” 

The wood-nymph was vastly pleased 
with the good manners of her host. So, 


MY FRIENDS AND PLAYMATES 105 

when she left, she told him who she was, 
and promised that she and those she ruled 
over would always be at his service and 
guard the kiln for him each night, waking 
him if anything should go wrong. So 
that’s how “ Father Lars,” Lotta’s grand¬ 
father, became the most famous charcoal- 
burner in the whole province. 


CHAPTER VIII 


MAGIC SPELLS 

Saint John’s, or Midsummer Day, is 
the great outdoor festival day in Sweden. 
It always falls on June twenty-fourth, 
so everybody is arrayed in fresh, new, 
light-colored garments, summer is at its 
best with abundant flowers and rich ver¬ 
dure, and the season is one of frolic and 
general relaxation before the heavy task 
of harvesting comes. 

For the young people, it is a day of 
great significance, as on Midsummer Day 
the Confirmation service takes place. The 
church is lavishly decorated with flower 
garlands and greens until it resembles a 
cool, fragrant bower. 

In the Swedish Lutheran church, one is 

confirmed from the age of fourteen up to 

sixteen. Fifteen seems to be the popular 

age. As soon as a girl is confirmed, she 

106 


MAGIC SPELLS 


107 


is considered a grown-up young woman, 
and becomes a Froken; her hair is put up, 
and her dress is full length. She is even 
permitted to have young men callers. 

I am sorry to state that these advan¬ 
tages meant more to most of us young 
girls than the purely religious significance 
of Confirmation. 

But on the Sunday following Midsum¬ 
mer Day we were formally admitted as 
members of the church, and partook of 
Holy Communion, or The Lord’s Supper, 
for the first time. Our parents, in solemn 
black, also “ went to the Altar ” after the 
Confirmation class had received the sacred 
bread and wine. After this, the confirmed 
members in the family always accom¬ 
panied their parents to the Holy Com¬ 
munion. 

Midsummer Eve! A happy warm glow 
of summer warmth and golden sunshine 
had transformed all Nature. The towns 
and the country alike seemed to be throb- 


108 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 

bing and tingling with life-joy. We dec¬ 
orated our houses, inside and out, and 
hung posies and wreaths and green gar¬ 
lands around the windows. The fireplaces 
were filled with huge branches of maple, 
and the corners of the living-rooms banked 
with green things and sheaves of wild 
flowers. Over our doorways and gates we 
erected arches of birch and maple, inter¬ 
laced with chains of daisies and wild phlox. 

But the most fascinating features of 
this Midsummer celebration were the 
“ magic ceremonies ” in which the young 
people liked to take part. These cere¬ 
monies usually took place after sundown 
on the night of June twenty-third. Pagan 
spells were woven. Fairies and all the 
unseen forces in Nature were about and 
eager to help those who had faith in their 
power to aid mortals in attaining their 
wishes. 

Usually one chose a faithful chum to 
take part in those magic functions which 
had previously been decided on as being 


MAGIC SPELLS 


109 


most potent. Because every normal 
Swedish girl, as soon as she put up her 
hair and lengthened her frock, begins to 
dream of a home of her own, of a husband 
and babies (a spinster is almost a disgrace 
in this country), most of the Midsummer 
Night spells were supposed to enable one 
to look into the future and see one’s mate. 

Blenda, my adored pal and leader; and 
I went through some of those mysterious 
rites during my last Midsummer Night 
spent in Sweden. I was fifteen at the 
time and had been confirmed the previous 
year, so I felt myself to be a full-fledged 
Frohen. 

We had decided ona“ silence-round ” 
as being the most interesting, dangerous, 
and romantic. I had taken Mother into 
my confidence, for the family had to be 
warned not to speak to me after the sun 
was no longer visible that evening. But 
my sister Constance impishly tried every 
trick she could think of to make me break 
silence. At last, with Mother’s sym- 


110 WHEN 1 WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 

pathetic cooperation, I managed to get 
away from the house without having ut¬ 
tered a word. 

I met Blenda at the appointed place, a 
little way out of town. Each one carried 
with her an empty water tumbler carefully 
wrapped in paper. Our first task was to 
climb nine rail-fences and to pick a dif¬ 
ferent herb or flower near each fence. 
These growing things were to be woven 
into a magic wreath to be put under our 
pillows—to dream on, and our respective 
future husbands would appear before us 
in a vision. We were also to walk sun¬ 
wise nine times around a vacant building, 
while reciting a magic formula. For an 
empty building, we chose the tiny Gospel 
Chapel used by the Baptists. So far all 
had gone well; we wove our spell around 
this humble place of worship. 

Next we had to find a well or a spring 
where our water tumblers could be filled. 
The Baptist pump was pressed into ser¬ 
vice. Dire misfortune would befall us if 


MAGIC SPELLS 


111 


one single drop of water were spilled on 
the ground before we reached the cross¬ 
road where we were to sit and wait for 
things to happen. A crossroad a little way 
farther out in the country had previously 
been selected. After we had carefully 
filled our tumblers at the Baptist pump, 
we made high collars from the paper in 
which our tumblers were wrapped and, 
with these collars fortifying the rims to 
prevent splashing, we set off for the cross¬ 
road. Of course we did not speak to each 
other, but how we did giggle as we tried 
to convey ideas to one another! We met 
a few youthful couples seemingly bent on 
some “ magic ” errand of their own, be¬ 
cause they pretended not to see us, and for 
this we were grateful. 

Finally we arrived at the crossroad, 
where we sat down with our precious 
water. If our hearts beat twice as fast 
as is normal, it must be known that this 
most potent “ magic ” would, on the stroke 
of midnight, cause our future husbands to 


112 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


appear before us, drain our tumblers, and 
rush off. It was our task to follow, and 
try to get a good look at the man who 
appeared—so that we would be sure to 
refuse all other suitors. 

At last, on the balmy air we heard the 
distant town-clock boom out twelve mid¬ 
night strokes. Scarcely had the last note 
stopped vibrating when, from down the 
hillside in front of us two white-robed, 
masked shapes came tearing, as if chased 
by mad bulls. They fairly flew towards 
us, and their footfalls hardly seemed like 
those of flesh-and-blood beings. I was 
shivering with fear, and my scalp tingled. 

Automatically Blenda and I sprang to 
our feet. Each one of the uncanny crea¬ 
tures grabbed a tumbler and seemed to 
dispose of the contents in great gulps. 
The face masks, decorated in the weirdest 
manner and fringed at the lower edges, 
were only slightly raised when the water 
was disposed of. 

They turned about swiftly and then ran 


MAGIC SPELLS 


113 


with incredible speed down the road to¬ 
wards town, Blenda and I following. But 
apparently in a few moments they real¬ 
ized that they would soon be overtaken, 
and so stopped and faced us. 

Blenda, brave Blenda, reached out and 
snatched away the masks. And since this 
is to be in all respects a true account, I 
am forced to state that those two white- 
draped figures were only two of our girl 
friends; Constance had mischievously told 
Hilma and Edla that we were to try some 
magic “ stunts.” We all laughed. Then 
Edla gave us a note from Fru Nyholm, 
Blenda’s mother, inviting us to come to 
the Nyholm home to spend the night and 
try some more “ magic.” 

Still in silence but with happy chuckles 
we returned to town. Fru Nyholm re¬ 
ceived us and invited us out to the kitchen 
where she conveyed by signs and nods the 
idea that we were to make “ dream-pan¬ 
cakes.” Blenda and I also had our 
bunches of growing things to dispose of 


114 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


first of all, so we went to my chum’s room 
and hurriedly made our wreaths in the 
dark, laying them carefully under our pil¬ 
lows. Then we returned to the kitchen. 

“ Dream-pancakes ” are said to contain 
wonderful potencies. The recipe is: Three 
tablespoonfuls of flour, three tablespoon¬ 
fuls of salt, and water enough to make a 
batter that will spread on the griddle. All 
who are to eat these cakes must hold the 
spoon when the ingredients are measured; 
they must all help to stir the batter, grease 
the griddle, pour the batter, and turn the 
pancakes. But above all, not a word must 
be uttered during the whole performance. 
Each participant must eat three of these 
very salty little cakes and go to sleep with¬ 
out taking a drink of water. Then in the 
dream the future mate will come with a 
glassful of water. Eagerly we carried 
out the program. Then, just as we were 
about to slip between the sheets, into the 
room came Fru Nyholm carrying a tray 
on which stood four tumblers half full of 


MAGIC SPELLS 


115 


water, and a blue bowl with four eggs. She 
made signs to us to break the eggs, drop 
the whites into the water and the yolks 
into the blue bowl. This we did. Surely 
we had done enough “ magic stunts ” to 
feel that our fortunes, or rather our fu¬ 
tures, would be revealed during this Mid¬ 
summer season. 

Fru Nyholm made some queer signs 
above each one of the water tumblers as 
she placed it by our bedsides. Then she 
kissed us all good-night and left us. 

Next morning at the breakfast table 
our hostess interpreted for each one of us 
the meaning of the strangely pretty fig¬ 
ures formed by the whites of each egg 
dropped in the water. Edla was to marry 
a doctor and travel for pleasure now and 
then; we all saw the delicate surgical in¬ 
struments, also a railroad train at the very 
bottom of the tumbler. Poor Hilma 
would become an old maid—from choice, 
Fru Nyholm added. Blenda would marry 
a jeweler and silversmith; we all saw 



116 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 

strings of pearls and fanciful shapes of 
delicate design and fine tools such as jew¬ 
elers work with. For me there would be 
a long voyage and an early marriage to 
a bookish man. Plainly I could see the 
man in my own tumbler, and naturally, 
that was the important thing. 

But alas for my carefully gathered 
posies of nine kinds on which I slept dur¬ 
ing the night! They caused me to shed 
many tears when, after breakfast, I helped 
Blenda make our bed. For an evil chance 
had caused me to put among my collec¬ 
tion a stalk of a plant which was literally 
covered with the squashiest kind of green 
and full-grown caterpillars. Blenda 
laughed until her mother thought she 
would become hysterical, and I wept from 
vexation and shame, for the pillow-case 
and undersheet were fearsome to see, 
what with that sickly green smear of 
crushed insects. 

Out in the country, Midsummer is cele¬ 
brated with the raising of the May-pole 


MAGIC SPELLS 


117 


—although May-day is past. The most 
popular and pretty girl in the village was 
always crowned “ Midsummer bride.” 
The May-pole was usually erected by the 
most prominent farmer, who also gave an 
all-night dance accompanied with abun¬ 
dant food and strong drink. The music 
consisted of accordion, flute, and violin. 
This night in the country was wholly given 
over to the frolic of the young people, 
many engagements were the result. Also 
not a few bloody encounters between rivals, 
“ scraps,” which occurred as a rule between 
sailors and the country lads. The latter 
rightfully resented having these smart 
sailors carry off their girls merely to 
amuse themselves with for a little while, 
for they seldom married the country girls, 
and of course the sailors were quick to 
draw their knives in defense of their tem¬ 
porary sweethearts. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE “ FREE WEEK.” PEASANT CUSTOMS 

The last week in October is called the 
“ Free Week,” for then the harvest is 
safely stored and the urgent outdoor work 
disposed of on the farms. This one week 
of the year is eagerly anticipated, espe¬ 
cially by the country servants; it is their 
only week of liberty during the year. The 
farmer hires his help for the coming year 
during this week. 

The county fairs and agricultural ex¬ 
hibitions also take place at this time. A 
general air of festivity causes one to for¬ 
get that winter is fast approaching. At 
the county fair, or marknad , the enter¬ 
prising merchants put up stalls and dis¬ 
play their wares, and a great deal of bar¬ 
gaining is done. 

The goldsmith is doing a brisk busi- 

118 


THE “ FREE WEEK ” 119 

ness in engagement rings. To be engaged 
properly in Sweden, lovers must exchange 
rings—plain gold bands, which are later 
used as wedding rings. But if the sweet¬ 
hearts are too poor to give each other the 
customary gold ring, the young man 
may give the girl a silver spoon or a 
pretty brooch, while the girl may knit a 
pair of woolen socks for her “ Fasteman” 
If a pair of lovers is aided by some 
friendly " Boneman ” or “ go-between,” 
this person is presented with a pair of 
stockings knitted by the happy prospec¬ 
tive bride. 

At the county fair, the candy booths are 
well patronized by young men. There are 
gorgeously wrapped large squares and 
sticks of pure sugar candy decorated with 
pretty miniature pictures and clever little 
love jingles—similar to American valen¬ 
tines. These sweet and showy tokens are 
offered to the young woman by the man in 
whose eyes she may have found favor. Of 
course, the girl may refuse to accept the 


120 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


offering, that is, if her fancy is no longer 
free. Many love affairs began in this 
simple manner. 

Of special interest to us children at the 
country fair were the stalls where toys 
could be bought. Here were sold tiny 
figurines of china, dainty and prettily 
decorated. Here, for three ore , one could 
buy a cunning clay-cuckoo which pro¬ 
duced quite pretty musical sounds if one 
understood how to regulate the two little 
openings on the breast of the bird and 
blow at the tail-slit. There were mouth- 
organs and drums and other musical in¬ 
struments, such as the accordion, the fa¬ 
vorite instrument of farm-hands. 

Cunning wooden toys, dolls and animals 
gaily painted, were offered for sale. Also 
funny clowns that would perform the 
most astonishing acrobatic feats if one 
pulled a string. There might even be a 
Kasper show —a Swedish version of 
Punch and Judy. Then, there was the 
blind singer of ballads, and his repertoire 




A hoary ancient ruin in Smaland, said to be With only one stick of candy between them, 

haunted by fearful specters. 





THE “ FREE WEEK 99 121 

of “ Visor trykta i dr ”—ballads printed 
during the current year which were ea¬ 
gerly bought by the country lads and 
later memorized. 

One rather interesting feast-day came 
on November tenth and was known as 
Martin’s Goose Day, celebrated in honor 
of Martin Luther. A goose was killed in 
each household which could afford to have 
a feast and entertain guests. In a man¬ 
ner, this feast-day corresponded to the 
American Thanksgiving Day, for the 
thoughtful farmer no doubt felt grateful 
to God for the harvest, and celebrated 
by eating the apple-and-prune-stuffed 
roasted goose and other good things served 
on this day. 

This time of the year the Swedish peas¬ 
ants usually devoted their evenings to 
“ brushing up ” their Catechism and Bible 
History knowledge. For soon the Kyrko - 
herde , or parish priest, would appear in 
each village and conduct quizzes regard- 


122 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


ing the religious knowledge of his flock. 
A strict record of each parishioner was 
kept. Those who fell below a certain 
standard would not be permitted to par¬ 
take of the Lord’s Supper during the fol¬ 
lowing year, and such a person was re¬ 
garded as an outcast until his lack of re¬ 
ligious knowledge had been remedied. 

In later years, this quizzing system 
was abandoned, although it was an excel¬ 
lent practice which helped the priest to 
keep in closer touch with his people. Then 
there were the social elements also: rich 
and poor alike looked forward to these 
household examinations, because it was 
usually the most prominent farmer in each 
village who opened his house for the occa¬ 
sion. And, after the ordeal was over, all 
who attended were treated to a sumptuous 
feast, with the Kyrkoherde leading the 
way. 

Before everybody sat down to do full 
justice to the meal itself, the smorgas-bord 
greeted the eyes of the hungry ones. This 


THE “ FREE WEEK ” 123 

institution is a kind of unwieldy, multiple 
hors-d'oeuvre , or appetizer. The smorgas¬ 
bord always precedes any formal meal. 
The men and women helped themselves 
to the various spiced and thinly sliced 
smoked home-made sausages, cold tongue, 
pickled herring, jellied eel, smoked sal¬ 
mon and anchovy, tiny, delicious meat 
balls, rich cheese, breads of many kinds, 
butter and preserves, etc. A well-planned 
and prettily arranged smorgas-bord re¬ 
sembles a colorful exhibition of delicates¬ 
sen stuff at a food show. 

Hospitality is one of the sacred laws of 
Sweden. Even the most casual caller 
must have his cup of coffee or goblet of 
fruit juice and little sweet cakes. To re¬ 
fuse to eat or drink what is offered would 
mark one as ill-bred. Still, to seem too 
eager to accept refreshments is also a sign 
of bad manners. It is always considered 
polite to refuse at least twice before one 
helps one’s self to the food offered. These 
things were impressed on us children by 


124 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 

our mother. To disobey would have been 
unthinkable. 

One day I suffered greatly because I 
dared not do what I wanted to do. 
Mother had taken me with her calling 
at Captain Hultmann’s house, the captain 
having just returned from abroad. After 
the coffee, some wonderful preserved 
tropical fruit was offered. Marvelous, 
crystallized confections they were, and 
merely to look at them caused one’s mouth 
to water. I had already eaten a piece 
when our hostess once more offered us the 
dish of sweets. I felt Mother’s eyes on 
me. Politely I said, “ No, thank you, 
Fru Hultmann.” But, oh! What a stab¬ 
bing, burning desire for those luscious 
rose-tinted squares of marmalade nearest 
me on the dish! I felt as if I were about 
to suffocate, and tears blurred my sight, 
but the look of approval Mother gave me 
was worth the sacrifice. 

On our way home, Mother drew my 
hand into her great, warm muff and gave 


THE “ FREE WEEK 99 125 

it a little friendly pressure. “ Anna-Mia, 
to-night you may look at the pictures in 
the Dore Bible,” she told me. What an 
unheard-of thing! And in the middle of 
the week, too, for that great book was only 
taken from the Formak table on Sundays 
and holidays while Mother herself care¬ 
fully turned the leaves and told us about 
the pictures. I now felt well rewarded 
for my little act of self-control. 


CHAPTER X 


FATHER AND I VISIT RELATIVES IN 
STOCKHOLM 

My father had only one sister, married 
to a newspaper man and living in Stock¬ 
holm. They had but one child, my cousin 
Ebba. 

At the time of my Confirmation, Ebba 

had come down to Oscarshamn to visit us. 

She was a year and five months older than 

I. Mother was very kind to her, and my 

sisters simply adored our pretty cousin 

with her fashionable frocks and hats. 

Ebba’s visit made me very happy, and 

when we parted, Father promised to bring 

me up to the Capital of Sweden towards 

the end of the summer. 

Ah, those two weeks in Stockholm! I 

could write a book about the things I saw. 

It was the most thrilling sight to see the 

Royal Guards on splendid horses and 

126 


RELATIVES IN STOCKHOLM 127 

in bright blue-and-gold uniforms dash 
through the streets to the tunes of martial 
music. And then the regiments of the 
Svea-Guards who were marching up 
Lions Hill to the central court of the 
Royal Castle, where, at the stroke of 
twelve each noon, they relieved those 
soldiers who had guarded the castle and 
their king for the past twenty-four 
hours. 

It may be that His Majesty, the well- 
beloved King Oscar, would step out on 
one of the balconies and graciously smile 
down on his soldiers and his civilian sub¬ 
jects who thronged the castle slope and 
the inner court. He was a tall, slim, truly 
nobly fashioned man, half a head taller 
than most of his subjects, and in his time 
the most learned monarch in Europe. 
Master of more than a dozen languages 
including Sanskrit and the Pali, that sum¬ 
mer when an Orientalist Congress was 
held in Stockholm and a number of 
stately, turbaned, white-robed Hindoo 


128 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


princes were the guests of the king, he 
was able to converse with them in their 
native languages. 

But the National Museum I think 
proved most interesting to me, for here 
were to be viewed the art treasures of 
Sweden; priceless paintings, many deal¬ 
ing with historical subjects. Here I saw 
the likeness of Karin Mansdotter, the 
beautiful and unhappy queen of Eric 
XIV, who in the year 1568 made her his 
queen. Karin was of very humble birth— 
her father was merely a corporal of the 
king’s life-guard—but her sweetness and 
charm of person had won the heart of the 
king, and he had at once ordered her to 
become one of the attendants on his sister, 
the Princess Elizabeth. Soon after this 
marriage, the king was forced to abdicate, 
and his younger brother, Prince Johan, 
became king. But Johan, after having 
treated his brother Eric most cruelly dur¬ 
ing several years of imprisonment, finally 
had him killed by poison. Queen Karin 



The pride of Stockholm and of every patriotic Swede interested in the glorious past 

of his country. 



























RELATIVES IN STOCKHOLM 129 


fled to Finland with her two children, 
Sigrid and Gustaf. Here she lived for 
some years with her sad memories. 

As I looked at the two life-size paint¬ 
ings of those royal lovers, tears filled my 
eyes, for Mother had read to us so often 
from the romance of Karin Mansdotter, 
written by Wilhelmina Stalberg. 

Father now led me to a painting that 
quickly made me smile: Malmstrom’s 
“ The Dance of the Elves.” Here were 
beauty and airy grace, elfin forms draped 
in gossamer garments flitting over a mid¬ 
summer landscape, softly illuminated by 
the twilight of the sun merely dipping be¬ 
low the horizon for a brief hour. 

Then I was taken to the marble statue 
of Endymion, asleep. No wonder Diana 
felt tempted to kiss that fair face of the 
sleeping shepherd boy. This statue had 
been found in fragments at the excava¬ 
tion of Pompeii, bought by beauty-loving 
Gustaf III, and the precious fragments 
carefully cemented together. So now En- 


130 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


dymion sleeps in far-away Sweden instead 
of in a ruined Italian city. 

We also visited the Royal Library, 
which was set in the midst of a beautiful 
park, Humlegarden. Father was a book 
lover, and he found much to occupy his 
mind in this delightful building. But 
Ebba, being impatient to show me more 
sights, took me out into the park and led 
me to the statue of Sweden’s famous bot¬ 
anist, Carl von Linne, [“ Linnseus ”] who 
was born in my own province, Smaland. 

As any present-day school-child knows, 
Linne was the scientist who classified the 
earth’s flora and fauna . The Linnean 
Binominal Nomenclature was part of his 
gift to the world. He was the son of very 
poor parents, but he had courage and a 
great hunger for learning. During his 
student years at the University, he was so 
poor that, instead of socks, he had to wrap 
his feet in paper to keep them warm in 
the severe winter weather of Sweden. He 
tutored during most of his spare time. 


RELATIVES IN STOCKHOLM 131 


studying at night. To-day his name ranks 
as one of the highest among the scientists 
of the world. 

The Swedish people here in America, 
wishing to honor the memory of their fa¬ 
mous countryman, set about erecting a 
great statue of Carl von Linne in Lincoln 
Park, Chicago. One of the most charm¬ 
ing native flowers of Sweden, the Linnea 
borealis, is named in honor of the noted 
botanist. This plant is a fairy-like creeper 
with the tiniest, bell-shaped, pink flowers 
of a most delightful fragrance, and grow¬ 
ing in the pine woods. 

Stockholm is a city of nearly half a 
million inhabitants, and it was founded by 
one of Sweden’s most far-sighted rulers 
of the thirteenth century, Biger Jarl. The 
city really began as a fortification, to de¬ 
fend the country from the invasion of 
foreign foes. It is a city built on a num¬ 
ber of large and small islands as well as 
on the mainland. For that reason the 
capital of Sweden is often called the 


132 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


Venice of the North, and communications 
between various points are by means of 
swift little steamers darting back and 
forth, although, of course, there are also 
street-cars and the omnibus services, as 
well. 

As an outdoor pleasure resort this city 
is ideal for the provincial population flock¬ 
ing to Stockholm during the summer. 
There are band concerts in the parks with 
cafe and open-air restaurant arrange¬ 
ments where excellent food is served at 
all hours, often by pretty waitresses in 
colorful peasant costumes. 

In the oldest parts of the city, the 
streets are so narrow that two carriages 
can scarcely pass each other, while the 
houses themselves are six stories high, 
with stone walls seven feet thick. Quaint 
street names, commemorating great his¬ 
torical events, meet the eyes at every turn. 
For Stockholm has often, during seven 
hundred years as a city, been the storm- 
center of various political factions. Now 


RELATIVES IN STOCKHOLM 133 

and then noble and innocent heads have 
fallen under the executioner’s axe. 

Years ago, when Father took me to visit 
my relatives in Stockholm, that city was 
said to have the best fire department of 
any city in Europe. It was wonderful to 
see the firemen rush like a whirlwind 
through the streets to reach a fire. 


CHAPTER XI 


SCHOOL-DAYS 

/ 

In Sweden the free public schools con¬ 
sist of the Primary School, with two 
grades; the Folk School, with four grades; 
and the High School, with from four to 
six years. 

I did not attend the Primary School. 
When I entered the Folk School, I was 
at once put into the third grade. My 
schooling at home had been so well di¬ 
rected that at the age of ten, I knew as 
much as the thirteen- and fourteen-year- 
old boys and girls. 

The reason why I had not been sent to 

school any sooner was that my parents 

wanted to send me to a private school, but 

this they had been unable to do so far. 

Looking back on my two years in the 

Folk School, I can truthfully say that 

they were happy years. We had compul- 

134 


SCHOOL-DAYS 


135 


sory religious training—two hours a day, 
sometimes, were spent on Catechism and 
Bible History. Our singing lessons were 
devoted to learning a number of psalms, 
and each day began with prayer and read¬ 
ing from the Bible. We were expected to 
be familiar with events described in both 
the New and the Old Testament and 
many a long and lofty Biblical passage 
had to be memorized. So, early in life, I 
learned to love the simple and stately lan¬ 
guage of the Bible. 

I liked zoology and botany. In our 
drawing lessons we were given Greek 
meanders to copy, and those of us who 
were clever and swift were permitted to do 
more intricate designs. But we had no 
talks about art appreciation or the mean¬ 
ing of the Moorish or Romanesque pat¬ 
terns in our drawing-books. 

Much of our reading was from Swedish- 
history text-books, and we were taught to 
look upon our warrior kings as wonder¬ 
ful heroes, even when they plunged the 



136 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


country into futile wars with such power¬ 
ful enemies as Russia. 

We were given a mere smattering of 
chemistry and physics, but were carefully 
drilled in grammar and spelling, while 
mathematics and geometry were given due 
attention. But wonderful were the lessons 
in gymnastics; our drill hours were always 
eagerly anticipated. Setting-up exercises 
took place out-of-doors in the school yard, 
winter and summer. 

Our school closed early in the summer. 
On the final day, our parents attended the 
exercises and quizzes conducted by the 
school superintendent of the district or 
by some prominent member of the school 
board. Then the graduates were pre¬ 
sented with their certificates, and after¬ 
wards we had coffee and doppa in the 
school garden under the trees. We all 
partook of refreshments, our parents, the 
board members, and the teachers; the 
superintendent himself became human 
and mingled with us youngsters, asking 


SCHOOL-DAYS 137 

the graduates what they intended to make 
of their lives. 

The autumn after I graduated from the 
Folk School, the Hydbom School for 
Girls, an inexpensive private school, was 
opened in our city, and I was enrolled 
with about thirty other girls. 

The eldest Froken Hydbom was our 
Postmistress. Her three sisters, Anna, 
Margit, and Thorborg with two elderly 
Froknar conducted the classes in liter¬ 
ature, languages, music, art, and man¬ 
ners, and, of course, fine needlework and 
lace-making. 

The Hydbom house was a rambling, 
two-story structure close to the park, one 
of the oldest houses in the city. The 
school was conducted on more or less in¬ 
formal lines, but we had to perform each 
given task as well as we knew how; praise 
and blame were not spared, partiality 
never shown. Our instructors wanted us 
to go forth from their school well equipped 
to meet life. 


138 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


Froken Anna and Froken Margit, who 
were twins, had one dominant fear in 
common—thunder and lightning. A few 
months before they were born, the Hyd- 
bom house had been struck during a se¬ 
vere electrical storm, and the fainting Fru 
Hydbom had to be carried from the burn¬ 
ing house. It was said that the twin sis¬ 
ters, every time a thunder-storm came up, 
sped to their room and buried themselves 
under huge feather beds, first closing the 
shutters and stuffing their ears with cotton. 

One day we girls, with the thoughtless¬ 
ness of youth, took advantage of our gen¬ 
tle teachers’ dread of thunder-storms. 
The launching of a great three-masted 
ship, built in our splendid ship-building 
yard, was to take place in a few days; and, 
of course, such an event was the talk of 
every one. 

As my own grandfather had been a de¬ 
signer and builder of swift and wonderful 
sailing vessels, I felt entitled to be present 
at every ship-launching that took place in 


SCHOOL-DAYS 


139 


our town. When we girls tactfully asked 
to be excused during the afternoon of the 
great day, Froken Anna told us that she 
frankly disapproved of our going down to 
the launching where we would hear swear¬ 
ing and much uncouth language, mingle 
with sailors and stevedores, and drunken 
people. “ Furthermore,” Froken Margit 
added, “ your education is the important 
thing in your life at present.” 

From the attitude of our teachers, we 
knew that only something miraculous 
would set us free for the launching. How 
we all racked our brains for a plan that 
would be both safe and practical! I, 
more than any one else, wanted to see the 
ship released, glide from its bed in slow, 
stately grace, and with a gentle dip slip 
into the water while the band played and 
all the spectators shouted and hurrahed 
and waved hats and handkerchiefs. 

We were a gloomy group of girls do¬ 
ing our gymnastics up in the airy, roomy 
Hydbom attic one afternoon two days be- 


140 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


fore the ship launching. The attic was a 
nice, clean place, shady and cool, with a 
smooth plank floor and a few gymnastic 
appliances. Suddenly Blenda Nyholm 
gave me a gentle nudge. An idea had 
come to her whereby she felt sure things 
would shape themselves so that we might 
be allowed to see the launching. 

Blenda’s plan was quite simple, not at 
all dangerous, and would harm no one. 
Only the twin froknar would be forced to 
spend part of the afternoon of the great 
day under their feather beds. On the way 
home from school, Blenda revealed her 
plan. Arvid, her brother, would be glad 
to help us, if we could find a crown in 
money to give him for his mother’s birth¬ 
day gift; Fru Nyholm’s birthday came 
the day after the launching. Of course, 
Sigge Nilson, his boy chum, would be glad 
to help, just to play a little trick on the 
Hydbom froknar because they were al¬ 
ways so fussy about Sigge’s muddy shoes 
when he brought them groceries. 


SCHOOL-DAYS 


141 


On the day of the ship launching early 
in the afternoon, while Froken Thorborg 
conducted the music class, Froken Margit 
supervised our painting, and Froken 
Anna struggled with the French class, 
there came a soft rumble of thunder. 
Again and again it came, increasing grad¬ 
ually. We paid no attention, for we were 
seemingly busy with our lessons. No 
flashes of lightning, so far. The house 
stood among tall trees, and only overhead 
could the sky be seen in summer. 

“ Is that thunder? ” Froken Anna 
asked us after the third rumble had ceased. 
We all saw her turn white, but we said we 
hoped it would not rain, although it 
sounded as if a thunder-storm was coming 
up. We had come to school without our 
umbrellas, we admitted. 

A sudden loud crash caused Blenda to 
look towards the ceiling. Then followed 
a low dull rumble. Furtively I watched 
Froken Margit who was helping Gerda 
Oberg with a study of water-lilies. The 


142 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


teacher rose and went to her room; soon 
she was followed by her twin sister. In 
a few minutes Froken Thorborg also rose 
and joined the other two. Boldly Blenda 
began to clean her brushes. I did like¬ 
wise. 

Froken Thorborg returned and told us 
that we were excused for the afternoon, as 
a severe storm undoubtedly would break 
very soon and she could not allow us to get 
wet; so would we please hurry home? It 
was evident that the ship-launching was 
far from Froken Thorborg’s mind this 
minute. Never had we rushed out from 
the Hydbom school with the mad haste of 
this day. Off to the shipbuilding yard 
we tore, thirty laughing, thoughtless girls. 

Blenda was the genius who had planned 
our release. I had, as we say here in 
America, merely “ financed the undertak¬ 
ing.” Arvid and Sigge had sneaked up 
to the Hydbom garret when the two boys 
brought the grocery to the Hydboms. In 
a covered basket Arvid carried four large 


SCHOOL-DAYS 


143 


wooden balls belonging to the bowling- 
alley of the Idrott Club . Both boys were 
barefooted, so their footfalls on the bare 
attic floor were not heard while they 
amused themselves by rolling these 
wooden balls back and forth. The rumble 
was a very good imitation of distant thun¬ 
der, as we heard it from the rooms be¬ 
low. But in the midst of Arvid’s maneu¬ 
vering of two of the balls across the 
planked floor, Sigge had carelessly 
dropped the other two, causing the fear¬ 
some crash at which Blenda had raised 
her head. But after this mishap, the two 
thunder-makers produced only the regular 
rumbles of an approaching storm which 
resulted in our being let out in time to 
see the ship-launching. 

And it was a sight worth remembering, 
when the stately three-master with a 
mighty surge of the water about its virgin 
keel dipped and, for a thrilling moment, 
veered first to one side then to the other 
before it slid safely into deeper water. 


144 WHEN 1 WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 

Hoav we all held our breath in fear some¬ 
thing would go wrong and there would be 
a delay or even an accident! But there 
were no reasons to fear disaster, for the 
blue-and-gold pennant with the ship’s 
name, Prins Karl , suddenly waved in the 
summer breeze, and an ear-splitting “ hur¬ 
rah ” broke from five thousand throats, 
while the Sharpshooters Band struck up 
a jolly march. On deck stood the Master 
Builder, the Captain who was to sail the 
ship, and special guests. 

In my pocket, tied in a corner of my 
handkerchief, was a one-crown silver coin 
which I had borrowed from Lotta. For 
Arvid and Sigge were not to be paid un¬ 
less their “ thunder performance ” was 
successfully carried out according to 
Blenda’s carefully pencilled instructions 
to the two boys. Arvid found us in the 
crowd, and I slid over to his side and 
smuggled the precious silver piece into his 
hand. Off he dashed to spend it for his 
mother’s birthday gift. 


CHAPTER XII 


STARS AND STRIPES. I TAKE AN 
IMPORTANT STEP 

Beata Nyholm, my chum Blenda’s 
older sister, had returned from America 
the summer I was confirmed. Beata was 
married to an American business man and 
was back in Sweden only for the summer 
to visit her parents. 

A few days after her arrival, Blenda 
took me into her sister’s room to show me 
some English books the two American 
visitors had brought with them. Strangely 
enough, I paid scant attention to the 
books. Instead, a great flag made of 
bunting and showing red and white stripes 
and a marvelous blue field with a number 
of white stars drew my eyes. It was 
draped beside our own blue-and-yellow 
flag between the windows and above the 
sofa-bed. 


145 


146 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


“ Oh, how beautiful!” I cried. “Blenda, 
what flag is that? ” My hands were 
clasped, and my eyes were blurred with 
tears—tears of a queer new emotion. 
That star-field, those bold red stripes be¬ 
tween the white ones, the whole flag— 
how it stirred me! A strange new unrest 
suddenly woke in my breast. 

Blenda smiled at my entrancement. 
Then she said: 

“ Anna-Mia, you are a funny girl. To 
cry over a flag! To me, our Swedish flag 
is the more beautiful.” 

“ But what flag is it? ” I persisted. 

“ The flag of the United States of 
America,” my friend finally told me. 
“ Beata feels a little bit like you about it, 
I am sure; else she wouldn’t have bothered 
lugging it home to show us.” 

Somehow, I felt hurt at Blenda’s 
words. But I made up my mind to have 
Fru Beata tell me more about that won¬ 
derful flag; they were all coming to our 
house for dinner the following day. 


STARS AND STRIPES 


147 


Of course, I had read translated stories 
of life in America. I was familiar with 
James Fenimore Cooper and his delight¬ 
ful Indian romances. My cousin Herr- 
man had introduced me to those books. 
Then, too, we had all wept over Uncle 
Tom and Little Eva and laughed at 
Topsy and Aunt Ophelia. To us, Lin¬ 
coln was the bravest and most wonderful 
man in the world. Still, I had never, to 
my knowledge, seen an American flag 
until I came across this one in the Nyholm 
home. 

That evening I astonished my parents 
by asking them to let me go to America. 
I felt confident that I could do as well as 
Fru Beata. She had been only seventeen 
when she left Sweden in search of larger 
opportunities, and had become a trained 
nurse, later marrying a well-to-do Ameri¬ 
can. 

Father and Mother insisted that I was 
too young. True, I was only a few 
months past fourteen, but I felt altogether 


148 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


grown up. I was taller than Mother, and 
could easily pass for eighteen or twenty. 

Father was very patriotic, and ex¬ 
pressed his contempt for the ambitious 
young men of military age who had to 
petition the King so as to be permitted to 
migrate to America and escape compul¬ 
sory military training. One of Father’s 
best tannery workers had left his employ¬ 
ment and gone to New York a few weeks 
earlier; so he naturally felt very bitter 
towards any one wishing to leave Sweden. 

Mother, however, felt differently about 
my desire to leave home, but she advised 
me to be patient for a few months. In¬ 
tuitively she knew that a way would open 
whereby my longing to go away would be 
satisfied. I told her how I had felt when 
I saw the American flag, and she smiled 
sympathetically. The Santesons, my 
mother’s people, had in the grey past been 
Vikings, so perhaps I carried in my blood 
the love for freedom and adventure. 

But my education was not finished. 



A Viking. 

From such sturdy ancestors were my mother’s people, 

the Santesons. 



























STARS AND STRIPES 149 

Only two years had I attended the Hyd- 
bom school, with but one term of Eng¬ 
lish. Strangely enough, I had chosen 
English in preference to the more fashion¬ 
able French, or the popular German—the 
three languages besides a smattering of 
Latin which were studied in our little 
school. 

Fru Beata—Mrs. White—helped me 
with my English that summer—conversa¬ 
tional English. Impatiently I wanted to 
learn to talk first; then later I could al¬ 
ways learn to read and write. How I 
struggled with the th, w, and j which are 
the chief stumbling-blocks to most Swed¬ 
ish people trying to master English. I 
would say: “ Den Yenny came vid de 
vouter,” instead of “ Then Jenny came 
with the water.” 

One of Father’s objections to my going 
to America was that he could not spare 
the passage money just then. His tan¬ 
nery business did not prosper as in former 
years; his partner was ailing and wanted 


150 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


to sell out his interest in the tannery. 
Mother explained those things to me in 
one of our confidential talks. We had to 
be more economical. Then Lotta was 
married, and after she left us, we man¬ 
aged without a servant. Constance and I 
were trained to help with all the tasks 
around the house. We had also learned 
to cook and bake and put up fruit and 
take care of our own clothes, and I showed 
a liking for dressmaking and millinery at 
an early age. Therefore Mother appren¬ 
ticed me with the leading modiste in our 
city for one year, where I was to learn 
designing, dressmaking, and millinery. 

As I already knew considerable about 
plain sewing, and could make buttonholes 
and do fancy stitching by hand, as well 
as manage a sewing-machine, it did not 
take many weeks before Fru Karlstrom 
felt justified in paying me some wages. 
This money was religiously added to my 
savings in the Postal Savings Bank, and 
Mother was the only one who knew any- 


STABS AND STRIPES 


151 


• • 

thing about my thrift. Ore by ore my 
little savings grew—a crown from Father 
now and then; the ten-crowns from Uncle 
Petter (for being butted by his prize 
ram), some money I had earned by mak¬ 
ing laces for Tante Herta, and by the 
sale of a dozen embroidered fancy guest 
towels besides a few other embroidered 
articles that had been disposed of for me 
through the kindly aid of Herr and Fru 
Erdman who conducted a fancy-goods 
shop and sold things on commission—all 
this wealth I accumulated with the utmost 
joy, in lieu of my objective. 

Mother and I kept the secret that I was 
being paid while still an apprentice at Fru 
Karlstrom’s establishment. I did not re¬ 
turn to the Hydbom school; instead, Con¬ 
stance was enrolled there. I was perfectly 
content for the present, since I was earn¬ 
ing money. Each week’s wages brought 
my departure for America a little closer. 
In my memory lived the inspiring talks I 
had heard from Beata White’s lips. She 



152 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


had frankly told my parents that it would 
be a shame to keep me in Sweden since 
my heart was set on making my own way 
in America. I wanted to study, learn to 
paint, know all there was to know about 
art and color harmony; and also I wanted 
to write about all those things that set my 
spirit throbbing—of beauty, of heart¬ 
aches and longing for I do not know what. 
Growing-pains perhaps they were, all 
those sensations that urged me to seek a 
broader, freer world in which to grow and 
work out my destiny. 

Hulda, one of our former maids, had 
migrated to Ajmerica four years ago; she 
was already married and had two babies. 
Hulda’s mother came now and then to the 
city to spend a day with Mother who was 
very fond of Mor Lena, and who took a 
keen interest in all the affairs of the 
Johansons. All the letters from Hulda 
had to be read and commented on. The 
three older boys, too, had done well after 
they had been in America a few years, 


STARS AND STRIPES 153 

and now their old mother could live in 
comfort for the rest of her days since the 
boys sent her little sums of money ever so 
often. 

It was after one of Mor Lena’s visits 
that I decided to write to Hulda and ask 
her if she would let me come to her house 
for a few days if I should come to Amer¬ 
ica; I told her how I had fairly lost my 
heart to the American flag. When I 
showed Mother this letter, she smiled at 
some of the things I had written, but I 
was allowed to send it. 

In due time Hulda’s reply came. I 
would be welcome to the Ericsons and I 
could remain as long as I wanted. Hulda 
was enthusiastic about my coming, and 
felt sure I would be able to do as well as 
any other strong and healthy young girl 
willing to work. Mother was very happy 
about this letter, and we talked things 
over at great length after which she began 
to get my under-garments and other 
things ready for my departure. 


154 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 


At last my year at Fru Karlstrom’s was 
over. It had been a profitable one; I felt 
I could earn my living with my hands, 
and, best of all, make my own dresses, 
wraps, and hats. Then I went to have an 
interview with Father, to ask his permis¬ 
sion to migrate. I confess that my knees 
wanted to fold up like jack-knives; my 
heart thumped most painfully, my tongue 
felt dead, and my throat was dry. But 
somehow, I managed to put my plea be¬ 
fore him. 

“ Anna-Mia, what nonsense is this? ” 
Father frowned, and his voice sounded 
very harsh. “ At present I couldn’t even 
afford to send you up to Stockholm to visit 
your cousin.” Suddenly he smiled in a 
sad manner, and now his voice was softer. 
“ Viking blood, of course. If only you 
had been a boy! Then we could have put 
you in the Navy and you would have had a 
chance to see the world.” It had always 
been Father’s secret grief that all his liv¬ 
ing children were girls. 


STARS AND STRIPES 


155 


Father’s softer mood gave me courage 
to go on. “ Suppose, Lilia Far , that I 
did not ask you for any money to take 
me to America; would you let me go then? 
Fru Akeson and her two children are leav¬ 
ing for Minnesota in September. I could 
go with them.” 

“ But she would not pay your fare, nor 
look after you in America, would she? ” 
His voice now sounded merely tired. 

“ I never asked her to pay my fare, nor 
look after me after we get there.” I had 
a close grip on my Postal Bank book as 
I continued: “Father, please tell me, 
would you let me go if I did not ask you 
for a single ore? ” 

“ Perhaps.” Now he laughed. “ I 
suppose you would pester me until I said 
you could go.” He looked at me keenly 
with a little twinkle of fun in his eyes. 
“ Intend to walk across the ocean? ” 

“ No, of course not.” With a sweep¬ 
ing curtsy, I held out my bank-book to 
him. “Look, Father! All mine! Over 


156 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 

two hundred crowns! ” How I trembled 
inwardly, fearing he would say I couldn’t 
go, after all. 

For some minutes he studied those evi¬ 
dences of my thrift—each date of entry 
and the amount. He looked puzzled. I 
had been known in my family during this 
last year as the “ miser.” Constance often 
taunted me in front of Father with my 
failure to buy little gifts for her and my 
small sisters when their birthdays came. 
Instead, I had made such gifts in my 
spare time. Now I told my father that 
Fru Karlstrom had paid me while I was 
an apprentice, and that Mother had put 
my earnings into the Postal Bank. 

Still, here he stood, gazing out of the 
store window for many long silent min¬ 
utes, while I felt like one awaiting a death- 
sentence. His brows were drawn to¬ 
gether; he was deliberating with himself. 
It did not enter my mind that in less than 
six years I would be twenty-one—of age; 
then I could do as I pleased, leave my 



STARS AND STRIPES 


157 


home without his permission; but absolute 
obedience had been the keynote of my up¬ 
bringing. 

Finally Father said, “ Anna-Mia, you 
know how I feel about America, but since 
you already suffer from the emigration 
fever, go, in God’s name.” 

“ Thank you, Father.” I kissed his 
hand as he held out the bank-book to me. 
My heart was filled with a bursting joy. 
“ Herr Cedergren will make out all the 
papers. Pastor Dahlberg will need your 
written consent before he gives me my 
prest-betyg; so please, Father, write that 
out for me.” 

A few minutes later I was on my way 
to the pastor’s house with the precious slip 
of paper signifying Father’s willingness 
to let me migrate to America. 

Two weeks later, I stood on the deck of 
j Romeo, the steamer that was to carry us 
to England whence we were to embark 
on the ocean liner. Not one sad thought 
had marred my happiness about going 


158 WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN 

away. Mother and I talked about the 
future, when I would return for a visit— 
after I had made my fortune, or gained a 
name for myself. Constance was openly 
pleased, for now she would be the eldest 
daughter at home. My two little sisters 
were content; had they not inherited my 
picture-books and my many sketches? 

I think I was the happiest person who 
had ever seen the grey rocks of the Bohus- 
lan skerries recede from sight. America, 
Freedom, and Adventure called me. 


THE END 

















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